


Incarnations

by Ais (mikaaislin)



Series: Wildwood Rising [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Agender Character, Asexual Character, Explicit Language, F/F, Fantasy, Gay Male Character, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, LGBTQ Themes, Languages and Linguistics, Lesbian Character, Librarians, Libraries, Magic, Magic-Users, Murder Mystery, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Slash, Original Universe, Pansexual Character, Police Procedural, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 16:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13299114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaaislin/pseuds/Ais
Summary: It started with one body, and soon became four. No connection, other than the strange field that keeps their bodies from decaying. As if that wasn’t mystery enough, an ancient sentient language appears near the latest corpse. Vikenti’s the magical cop assigned this case and he isn’t pleased. Experts are baffled and he’s impatient. He wants this case solved, because it’s looking more and more likely there’s a serial killer at large targeting both the magical and non-magical communities. He isn’t the only one having problems; Sloane wants answers for the event that turned her into an outcast in her own city. Fawkes and Corrin want to know more of who they are, Keiran wants clarity, and Besin wants to know why his beloved ancient language has resurfaced. Ven and Enria want to find their lost family, Jade wants justice, and Harper wants to forget. Meanwhile, twin brothers Cypress and Hunter are on the run from everyone just for being born. Everyone has a story. Everyone has a past. Everyone has darkness that can find them, and everyone will learn so much more than they expected about themselves, the world, and life itself. It started with one body, but the story that body tells is so much more than a simple murder.





	1. Chapter 1

"What in seiyunne is this?"

Vikenti stared at the body coated in a thin, shimmering layer of magic. Beneath the translucent film, the young man looked pristine and untouched. The forest rustled around them; leaves and branches caught in a warm wind. 

Annoyingly pleasant, considering the month’s worth of work staring Vikenti in the face. On top of the rest waiting for him back at Irridian Enforcers Headquarters.

Keiran crouched near the edge of the clearing, her forearms resting on her knees with one hand absently twisting the ends of her heavy braid. She had been staring intently at the dirt for a while, and Vikenti didn’t have to ask what she was doing: categorizing all the magical energy she saw, checking for signatures and running them against her internal database for a match, looking at the physicality of the setting to see what clues it may give her for how this guy had died. All the normal things the crime scene techs did that Vikenti didn’t have to worry about until she came to a conclusion and he could get to investigating.

At his question, she glanced up at him. "It's the latest." 

"You can't be serious," Vikenti said flatly. "I'm not even done with the last." He patted around his coat and pulled a roll of estes from an inner pocket. He extracted one and waved toward the body with it. "Give that shit to Farmer. Maybe he’ll see something I don’t."

"Can't. DC Zima’s orders say give them all to you." 

Vikenti thought about grumbling that the Deputy Chief wasn’t here so whatever she wanted didn’t have to make its way back to her unless Keiran told her, but it was only a daydream. Come report time, Zima would notice if it listed Glen Farmer instead of Vikenti Shaw as the investigator.

Keiran turned back to studying the crime scene from within the perimeter that she had told him to avoid. The woods crowding Selin were utterly ordinary, as far as Vikenti was concerned, so it pissed him off to see something that was going to be a pain to decipher. Somehow, these things were less annoying when they happened in already abnormal locations.

The vic was pretty ordinary looking; the latest Degrenan fashion trends in his bright and practical clothing, the latest trendy cut in the man’s dark hair. He looked like he was sleeping, not dead. If not for the odd bubble surrounding him, Vikenti might have passed the guy by if he’d stumbled upon him in the woods.

They were in sight of Gulf of the Night, a cerulean swath of water sending sparks of light between the filter of trees. The small, oblong clearing they were in was either already naturally there or was somehow made without leaving a visible trace. The underbrush was flattened in a circle around the corpse, and nearby Vikenti saw a thin scrape or two on the trees, but it was hard to tell if it was related or simply a byproduct of being in a forest.

Keiran knelt next to the corpse, careful not to touch whatever it was that surrounded him. Her open hand left a shimmer of seirene in its wake, like a boat through water, as she passed her palm above the soil. Vikenti could have activated his Enforcer sight to watch the fluctuations of the magical energy around them, to see her spells turned into form and light, but he didn’t bother. He knew her sig; he’d seen it often enough.

He pulled out a self-contained fire spell. A flame flared into existence, caught on the end of the paper, and burned. The spell disintegrated in his fingers. He inhaled deeply, letting the faint pull of estes calm his nerves.

"They don't think I've got enough cases already?” He continued irritably when she didn’t speak. “I'm not even supposed to be doing DOAs. Special Crimes is supposed to be for _special crimes_. Not this."

"I'm not even sure they _are_ DOAs," Keiran muttered. 

"What, you're crying homicide on this?"

Keiran crouched on all fours and leaned closer to peer at the dirt. "Well, they _are_ contained in a spell..."

"With no visible wounds." Vikenti flicked some ash outside of the perimeter and scowled down at the body. "For all we know it's another of those damn cults. Maybe this guy volunteered to help out."

Keiran shot him a doubtful tick of an eyebrow.

Vikenti returned it. “Crazier shit’s happened.”

"Maybe, but the unTalented don't usually dabble their way into magic this refined. Besides," Keiran added, straightening to a stand and dusting off her pants. "I've matched a signature."

Vikenti scowled. "Damn."

"I'll have to compare it back at the office. There's something strange about it."

"Double damn." Vikenti glowered at the body. "Just what I need. The press on this is going to drive me insane."

Keiran snorted. "You mean you aren't already?"

Vikenti ignored the jibe. "Bag it and write the report. I'll alert DC Zima."

"I'm not a friggin' intern," Keiran muttered sourly but still knelt to follow his directions.

Vikenti paused. “You taking Harper back to Irridian?”

She gave him an odd look. “Yes. He’s the one who sent us out here, right?”

“Yes…”

“So, why would someone else pick us up?”

“Degrena’s closer; why don’t we use one of them?”

Keiran canted a look at him. “Be serious. They’re pissed enough that Ariwyn Division took over. No way they’ll lend us a Conjurer to get back home; not without a lot of paperwork. Unless you have connections in Double D-land from your dad. Which I don’t think you do?”

Vikenti’s lips thinned. “No current connections.”

“Okay. So, then. Harper.”

There was a long pause, with Vikenti glowering at her and Keiran staring straight-faced back, until a smirk bloomed on her lips. 

“You don’t want to be around him,” she said knowingly.

“Isn’t Atos available?” he groused.

Keiran outright grinned, and leaned back on her heels. Her heavy dark hair swung behind her. “Busy, I heard. And seeing as they’re our only two designated Conjurers for Ariwyn-wide, seems like you’re stuck with him for now. What’s the matter? He hit on you too much? Or don’t you like that Harper told Ven--”

“It’s fucking fine,” Vikenti snapped and stalked away.

Keiran laughed in the background. Vikenti wished, not for the first time, that seirene would let him use his powers on a person without meeting an inherent moral and social code. Five kinds of magic, five different seiyunne, that fueled the various sects of Mages—and seirene was the only one with those restrictions, with only Enforcers and Healers having to deal with the repercussions. Didn’t seem right.

He planned to leave the woods, find that blabbermouth Conjurer, and jump back to Irridian with him—but on his way he felt a pull to the left, sheltered in the woods. 

The wind rose in the ages-old trees, rustling the leaves in a low-level harmony. This far south on Serine, the air was warm and humid. This forest was a normal forest, not an ancient spread of massive trees like the e-trelia elsewhere in the world. Still, the leaves were huge and the insects were a larger scale than back home in Irridian. He pushed a spiderweb out of his path and absently activated his seirene sight, looking for any trace of a magical signature. 

Shadows of old spells surrounded him in a quiet layer of translucent color over the everyday scenery of the forest. There was plenty of old, innocuous seiyunne activity; primarily seikelle and seitai which wasn’t a surprise. Probably some Spiritualists, maybe a Conjurer or two. Almost certainly some Proveniers. Hard to tell exactly, with everything so old and dissipated. He figured he was seeing old wayfinder spells, some firestarters, Enhanced Senses, other run-of-the-mill magic—but nothing stood out to him.

He searched for something more recent; something that would explain the lure that pulled him into the trees. He was led unerringly to a slab of a rock, flat on one side and sticking up at an angle, rising to his chest. He stared at the rock, lips pursed.

It was blank. He didn't see any signatures of recent magic. Yet there was something there, something he could feel but not see. Something that called to him.

A westward breeze filtered through the trees, bringing with it the salty scent of the Gulf of the Night. Woodland animals chirped and chittered. The texture of the forest fell away around him. 

Figuring out what attracted his attention to this rock was all that mattered.

Maybe he could find something if he refined the parameters of his seirene sight. A secondary spell, perhaps? One typically used to enhance an Enforcer’s range?

"Vika!"

Keiran’s shout held an edge of fear. The incongruity of hearing any uncertainty in the usually confident voice caused him to snap his head to the side. Over his shoulder, he saw Keiran tromping through the woods, her bright hazel eyes darting around frantically until they landed on him. She all but ran toward him.

Vikenti's eyebrows drew down. "What?" 

There couldn't be some new drama he had to deal with already, could there? If there was a second body out here he was going to have to kill someone...

"Harper couldn’t make it so Atos took me back,” she panted, stopping next to him and bracing her hands on her knees. She looked up at him through her eyebrows, her dark brown hair falling over her shoulders and partially hiding her flushed cheeks. “I thought you’d gone back before me but you weren’t at HQ. I waited but you never came, so I sylphed Atos. Asked him where you had him drop you off, and he said you never sylphed him. We couldn’t find you. I thought—” She screwed up her face and straightened, waving a hand. “Doesn’t matter what I thought. DC Zima was about to send a search party for you but I told her I’d check the crime scene first. Make sure you hadn’t found another one…”

"What on Ariwyn are you talking about? I've been here maybe a minute."

Keiran gave him an odd look. "It's been six hours, Shaw."

The words took a moment to filter through his mind. Six... His gaze snapped to the surrounding woods. Only then did he notice the shadows, heavy and dark; weighted with the press of the night. The cool bite of the windless air. The creaking of trees and the susurration of woodland animals.

The hair lifted on his arms for more reason than the temperature.

The idea of unknown magic prying deep into his psyche was more alarming than anything he'd dealt with so far that day, unnaturally preserved bodies from a fastidious serial killer included. He wanted to look back down at the rock but stopped himself, canting his gaze away at the last second.

"Shit."

“What in yenrre were you doing, anyway? Scared the light out of me. Does it have something to do with--"

She started to step around him, to look down at the rock. He shot an arm out, forcing her back a step. "Don't."

"What's--"

"We need the freak."

Keiran's expression went through an interesting shift from indignation to confusion. "That's not exactly narrowing it down..."

"The book one," Vikenti said impatiently. "You know. That geek friend of yours."

"If you mean Besin, he's not my friend, exactly--"

"I don't care if he's your long lost twin brother," Vikenti snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forcibly turned her around, shoving her between the shoulder blades to get her to move. "We need him back here as soon as possible."

"As in tomorrow?" Keiran asked dubiously.

"As in tonight if he can get his ass out of the library for longer than two seconds at a time."

"Well, we can try..."

"Do it." 

Vikenti followed her, and was surprised to see how close they were to the clearing where the body had been. Through a break in the trees, he could still see the faint glittering of the Gulf of the Night, cutting between three of Ariwyn’s continents. Beyond the woods and east was Selin, the dirty little port town that had called them down here for the corpse. Everything was the same as it had been earlier, minus the body. Since it wasn’t there, that meant Keiran and Atos had brought it back to the morgue. 

It unnerved him all over again, realizing that he’d been within hearing distance of all that activity and somehow hadn’t heard a thing. 

He crossed his arms and glared at Keiran. "I'll wait here. Is Atos out there already?”

“Harper, this time. He’s looking for you too. I’ll sylph him—”

“Look physically. The sylphs have been touchy in the forests lately. They may be fine in this small of woods but no reason to risk it. How long will it take you?”

“Not long. Twenty minutes, maybe. We planned a grid search so I know where he’ll be.”

“Fine. Hurry.” Vikenti felt his stomach rumbling, and resisted the urge to snap at Keiran again. 

Keiran paused and looked over her shoulder. "Why do we need the Head Librarian, anyway?"

"Because this case just got a damn lot more complicated," Vikenti said darkly, and refused to explain before she left.

Vikenti felt on edge the longer he had to wait, and burned through four more estes rolls. Trying to keep the quiet call of that rock out of his mind was ratcheting his anxiety up by the second, putting him in a rather unsavory mood.

After what felt like forever, he heard voices approaching. Accompanied by enough racket from them walking through the woods to challenge a Kin on a rampage. 

What were they doing, creating their own damn path along the way?

“Don’t know why you don’t bring us directly there,” Keiran was saying distantly. “Making us walk forever each time.”

“If I did, I wouldn’t get to see Mr. Scrolls walk ahead of me,” came the drawling response. 

At that voice, Vikenti clenched his teeth and inhaled sharply on the estes. 

_Patience,_ he told himself. _No need to get suspended over that idiot._

“What’s that have to do with anything?” Keiran sounded close.

“Well, you can’t tell with the robes on but he has a nice—”

The trio entered the clearing; Besin leading, with Harper right behind him and Keiran at the back. Despite the fact they were all in their 30’s and only about five years apart, they were a study of dissimilarities.

Besin was all in shades of light to medium brown, from his features and complexion to his antiquated Mage robes that nobody ever wore anymore except weirdos like him. He had a worn leather messenger bag looped across his body. 

Behind Besin was Harper, with every piece of his leather and cloth outfit no doubt specifically chosen to be as fashionable and form-flattering as possible. Whereas Besin’s short hair perpetually looked flyaway and Keiran’s was often twisted into braids or buns, Harper’s black hair and goatee were perfectly coiffed, and his vivid blue eyes stood out like a damn Magelight.

At the back, Keiran was in her blue and green Enforcer uniform she kept clean despite regularly being in the midst of a mess for her job. As Vikenti was used to seeing on her, her lips fluctuated subtly between a wry smile and a sloping frown. In daylight he could see the freckles faintly dotting her cheeks and the range of colors in her eyes, but the night took the subtleties from her features; leaving her tawny and hazel.

Even their way of walking the same path differed: Keiran strode, Besin stumbled, and Harper sauntered.

Upon seeing Vikenti, Harper cut himself off and broke into a wide grin. Vikenti’s blood pressure skyrocketed.

“Well, well, look who we have here. It’s our long lost Special Enforcer Shaw. Tell me, did you discover a new fear while you were alone? Ven said—”

“You say another word and I swear to Irridia I will lock your ass in a binding spell and cart you straight to HQ,” Vikenti snapped.

Harper’s infuriatingly smug grin only grew larger. He slung his arm around Vikenti’s shoulder. “Ah-ah-ah,” he tsked, wagging a finger. “Can’t do that with seirene, not when I’ve done nothing wrong. We all know that’s a lie, En-for-cer.”

The way he so playfully said the sect name made Vikenti go stiff with rage.

_I’m going to kill him,_ he told himself. _I’m going to fucking kill him._

Vikenti shoved Harper off him, ignored that idiot’s obnoxious laughter, and rounded on Besin.

"Took you fucking long enough. Did you stop for a five-course meal along the way?"

Besin looked at Vikenti distractedly, as if he had too many thoughts buzzing through his brain to act like a normal human being. It was irritating on good days. Today it was downright aggravating.

"I wanted you here because--"

Besin ignored Vikenti, already orienting himself in the direction of the rock.

"It can't be." He sounded shocked.

He walked unerringly into the forest, with more surety of his step than even Vikenti had earlier. Keiran looked questioningly at Vikenti, whose expression had darkened at Besin's words. Even Harper knew to shut up. The three of them followed the Provenier into the woods.

They found Besin standing perfectly still near the rock, staring down with such intensity that Keiran glanced in alarm at Vikenti. Was that the look he’d had earlier when she'd found him, staring raptly at nothing?

He could feel the pull of that rock, or magic, even more clearly now. Digging insidious claws into him; winding deep like capillaries beneath his skin.

"Besin--"

Besin cut Keiran off with a gesture. He knelt next to the rock, his hand passing near its surface similarly to how Keiran had skimmed the soil earlier.

He muttered something to himself, frowned, and dug into his bag. Vikenti watched closely to see what he had brought, but all Besin pulled out was a blank, unusually thick piece of parchment. He placed it carefully against the flat side of the rock, and with his free hand reached into a smaller bag at his waist to pull out a small cylindrical brown item. Vikenti couldn't tell exactly what it was; it looked like an empty pen made of brown paper.

Besin placed the point of the pen against the parchment in the center. "Step back."

Vikenti, Keiran, and Harper barely had the chance to hesitate and start to comply before Besin said something quietly.

A small flare of seitai with the familiar feel of Besin's signature was immediately overpowered by a violent wrenching of the air. It felt like there had been an explosion at the base of that pen’s tip. A shock wave shook the trees, the power passing through Vikenti gently in the front but feeling like it ripped him apart on the way through his back. The air compacted in his lungs and the three of them were thrown back several steps.

The rock came alive with something for a split second—something Vikenti couldn't quite see or understand but knew was there. Immediately after it flared on the rock it disappeared and flared on the parchment and pen instead. 

It was all over too quickly for Vikenti to process.

For a moment Vikenti gasped for air, feeling shell-shocked and unable to grasp what had just happened. Besin considered the parchment with a pronounced frown. It took Vikenti a second to realize that the brown pen had fallen to ash and the parchment looked blank once more.

He dragged in a lungful of air and demanded with a voice that was thin with near-asphyxia, "What in yenrre was that?"

Besin looked up at the three of them, startled. He took in their bedraggled appearances and the way Keiran was now glaring daggers at him, her body doubled over and expression pinched in pain. Harper looked ready to vomit.

"I told you to step back," Besin said, bewildered. 

"Warn a girl next time you're going to do some fucking demolition," Keiran growled.

Besin frowned at them but his brown eyes were already starting to slide away, being drawn back down to the parchment. "We have a problem, Special Enforcer Shaw."

"Some of us more than most," Keiran grumbled.

Vikenti had to agree with her sentiment. "What is it? You know what's happening?"

Besin stared down at the parchment for one more moment before he carefully rolled it up and packed it away. He stood and faced the three of them with a deadly serious expression. It lent weight to a face that otherwise seemed boyish and round. It reminded Vikenti that Besin was older than he looked, as evidenced also by the few grey hairs starting to show through his short brown hair. 

"I know what happened here. But I don't know how it can be."

"Cut the theatrics and get to the point already. I don't have time--"

"It's the Alurri." 

Besin's simple sentence caused Vikenti to fall silent in disbelief.

"What--" Keiran sputtered. "You can't be serious. They've been gone for over a thousand years."

"Over 1800 years, to be exact. And yet you found a rock with their language, Ancient D’ria, scrawled on it." Besin’s gaze flitted around, possibly searching for more. "I have no idea why it's here, let alone who could have written it. The language is practically extinct."

"How can you be so sure it's that?" Vikenti asked doubtfully.

"I wondered as soon as Keiran mentioned your lapse in time and that you seemed to be staring at nothing. But I didn't think it was possible..."

Harper eyed Besin, and for the first time Vikenti noticed that the usually smarmy man was unusually serious. 0“When Keiran told me about it, I assumed Shaw wandered into a rerun. What makes you assume it isn’t just a self-contained spell that mesmerized him? Why jump straight to extinct Mages being near a crime scene?”

"Because of what was on the rock. And that level of time loss isn’t indicative of a simple rerun; in those cases, the subject still experiences time, just at a slower pace. Special Enforcer Shaw said he didn’t remember anything at all.”

“And it isn’t—you know.” Keiran hesitated, glanced at Vikenti and Harper, and edged closer to Besin. “Arrindell?”

She had dropped her voice to a whisper but the other two still heard it. Vikenti scowled at her and Harper burst out laughing, saw she was serious, and unsuccessfully tried to stifle it.

“Are you kidding me?” Vikenti demanded. “First he’s saying some Unconscionables appeared and now you’re throwing out a mythical fucking city?”

“It isn’t a myth,” Keiran said heatedly. “I _told_ you—”

“It isn’t Arrindell,” Besin assured her. “At least, I currently have no reason to believe it’s directly involved, although of course it’s possible that Ancient D’ria was dragged here along the ley lines if Arrindell appeared elsewhere. But, no. He was caught by Ancient D'ria itself. Do you know the legend?"

"All I know is it shouldn't exist anymore."

"Well, yes and no,” Besin said. “The Alurri were all hunted down and killed ages ago but people have died because of this language. They can't see it but they can feel it. They forget to eat, to move, sometimes even to breathe. They're enthralled until they expire."

"I didn't," Vikenti said pointedly.

"You were interrupted."

"How can something I don't even see affect me? There wasn't anything there."

"Oh, it's there. Ancient D'ria can only be seen by someone who knows the language. If you have a mild understanding you only see a few letters. The range continues up until you're fluent when you not only see every letter but the enticement tied into each symbol as well. The magic behind the words."

"That's the legend?" Keiran frowned doubtfully at the pocket where he'd tucked away the parchment. "That there's some mysterious language that turns people comatose?"

"Even if you can't see it, Ancient D'ria is too beautiful to leave once it’s found you. It's a cruel, flawless beauty that stands impassively by as its admirers waste away. Just like the Alurri did to others.” Besin turned a thoughtful stare into the distant woods. “According to the legend, the Alurri's screams, the ultimate song of the sirens, fed into their language. And when the last Alurri drew her last breath, Ancient D'ria stretched and expanded across the world, like a phoenix reborn from the ashes of its creator. I wrote about it in my book Aftermath of a Cataclysm; did none of you read it?"

"Then why aren't you affected?" Vikenti felt slighted by the implication that he was just another idiot getting enthralled by blank rocks.

"Oh, I'm affected," Besin said with a shrug. "I simply know how to divert it. But no one will be affected again for now. I've captured it."

"Captured?" 

"I’ll explain in detail later. First, this is important." Besin turned intent dark brown eyes on Vikenti. "Have you received reports lately of people wasting away?"

"How should I know? I’m not the whole damn sect." 

Vikenti pulled out another estes roll, his irritation level rising as he was presented with yet another case that had to be mired in the unknown. Just his luck. 

He liked being in the Special Crimes Unit. He didn’t like how much of a pain in the ass the investigations could be, with every other case bringing up some new, unpredictable aspect. 

"Can you check?" Besin glanced between the two Enforcers. "It’s imperative that I know if this is something happening on a larger scale."

"Why? You following some grand prophecy or something?" Vikenti asked sarcastically. 

"No." Besin gave Vikenti an odd look. "I'm just worried."

Vikenti eyed Besin suspiciously, debating the validity of that claim or whether the universe was planning to mess with him.

"Does this Ancient D'ria have anything to do with the preserved bodies?" Keiran asked.

"What preserved bodies?" 

"The one we found in that clearing before S.E. stumbled on something straight out of the history books."

Besin frowned. "Preserved how? And how did they die? They don't look wasted away, do they?"

Keiran opened her mouth to reply but then paused and glanced at Vikenti. He could read in her expression that she was trying to figure out how to explain something that was relatively unexplainable. Vikenti sighed explosively and turned on his heel. He put the roll in his lips and lit it, immediately inhaling a deep breath.

"Come with me. It's too hard to explain. Better you just see. Dells, can you bring us to IEHQ? Main area, not the morgue. I’ll have to get clearance for Arenth."

“But of course,” Harper said with an overly dramatic bow. “I live to serve. During work hours. I serve a whole other way outside of them.”

Harper grinned up at Vikenti from beneath his brow and winked.

Vikenti sighed. For spirits' sake. 

He was going to need another roll.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally it wouldn't be so difficult to do a postmortem examination of a body, but when that body's covered in an unknown magic that's keeping it from decaying, things get a bit more complicated. Meanwhile, as usual, Besin finds a way to geek out on various topics. Also, Vikenti is irritable, but what else is new?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short note: I know this chapter gets a bit wordy and tangential. I wasn't able to edit this as well as I would have liked. Although the book does get tangential and wordy in places (usually because of Besin lol), there are also succinct chapters or better flow. If you were intrigued by the first chapter and then read this chapter and find the flow to be way off, and if that would turn you off of the entire book/series by assuming it will all be like this chapter, I ask you just keep reading and give it a try. Not every chapter is as tangential as this. I'm sorry I wasn't able to edit this better but it was between edit this and not post, or just post and leave a note. I figured it was better to get it out there instead :)

The bodies hovered in the center of the room, packaged in layer upon layer of spells to keep them cool and untouched. In the center of those spells, the thin, shimmering layer of unknown magic remained unbreached.  
There were three bodies in total so far: an old man found out by Ystis Gulf, a teenage girl from Salasia, and now a young man from a copse of trees not far from Selin. The first victim had been a middle-aged woman near Teduria but there wasn’t a body left for her.

Postmortem Examiner Janelle Rodres circled the bodies, studying them closely. Where Keiran was tawny, average height and curvy, Janelle was tall and toned, with a complexion as warm as deep umber. She had a sense of humor that reminded Vikenti of Lin, which was no surprise given the two of them had been friends. Today she wore her Healer robes, other days speckled with blood but today perfectly white.

Vikenti thought she would have made a good Enforcer, if she’d been born into that sect. But she was born a Healer, so she was a P.E. instead of a Special Enforcer, and all told that was probably better for the sect at large. It paid to have a competent P.E. when these Ariwyn Division cases came in. Since Irridian was the capitol of Magedom, they overtook local command of higher profile magical cases anywhere in the world. Better Janelle in charge of those bodies than that snarky P.E. down in Degrena.

Vikenti sighed explosively. His fingers twitched for another estes roll but he stopped himself. Couldn’t smoke in the morgue. He’d had that fact yelled in his ear often enough to bother remembering.

This time.

“Well?” Vikenti asked impatiently, but all the intellectuals in the room ignored him. He harrumphed and leaned against the wall with crossed arms. Keiran smirked at him, then returned to reading a report.

The newest addition to the room was someone Vikenti had never seen before. Gorgeous, agender. Leh was short and slim, no breasts to speak of in the flat line of levs chest, a heart-shaped face, warm honey-toned skin, wavy short blond hair, and large eyes. The eyes were what Vikenti found most interesting: they were two-toned, the irises split in half at an angle with violet on top and blue on bottom. 

There was something else interesting, a bit odd, about lev; something Vikenti couldn’t quite place. Contradictions, mostly. Graceful movements that ended sharply at times, or impassive features put at odds with the expressive dimming and brightening of levs eyes in surveying the bodies or reports. 

Although Janelle had said this person was named Corrin, nobody had bothered to explain who on Ariwyn Corrin was or why it was necessary to let lev in on this corpse party. All Vikenti knew was Corrin had spent the past hour poring over every detail of Janelle’s reports and checking those against books leh had brought.

Vikenti grabbed his estes roll and turned it around and around between his fingers. Maybe if he put one in his mouth, the taste would be enough. 

Maybe. 

Maybe he should leave the fucking room and get a hit in while these slowpokes stood around in silence for fucking ever.

But knowing his luck, he’d miss something important. So he forced himself to remain.

Somewhere between the woods and Irridian Enforcer’s Headquarters, Keiran had taken her heavy dark hair and had woven it into a more complicated braid resting on her back. Magelights hovered near the ceiling. They had faded slightly and seemed in need of a boost, but in that pale light he could see her freckles again. 

Her green and blue shirt, lightly pinstriped and layered over a white shirt with dark grey pants beneath, showed her status as an Enforcer in uniform. She had rolled the sleeves up, the cuffs blue and bunched at her upper arms, and a silver chain disappeared beneath her shirt. He could see something brush against the fabric now and then even when she didn’t move, and he surmised she was wearing the Enforcer sect’s symbol. No one else had their sect’s symbol visible, which wasn’t a surprise.

He hadn’t been in the morgue for a while but it didn’t look like it had changed much. The tables that usually filled the center of the room were pushed to the side to accommodate the extra bodies, both alive and dead. A door in the corner led to a second room which housed the bodies that were in stasis. Vikenti always avoided going there because it was cold as the deep sea inside. Even with preservation spells and the chilled environment, those bodies often decayed before they were buried, burned, or reverted to their magical properties.

It pissed him off sometimes, for different reasons depending on how much of an asshole the vic was. Fully innocent vics just made him sad, but others made him want to smoke a whole handful of rolls. 

All these people from around the world migrated to Irridian on a hope and a dream, thinking the place would be safe and here they could learn how to be a Mage without endangering others. And yeah, that was true; all the schools here were designed for that. But that didn’t mean people had to be idiots about the way they moved to an entirely new fucking city. Maybe leaving an address of origin once in a while would be a good idea so their loved ones could be notified if they died, or maybe, and here was a shocking idea, _maybe_ they could recognize that humans were humans no matter where they lived. 

Just because Irridian was the city that had never fallen, the place named after the first Mage herself, and just because the Mystic was here to stop most dangers from entering the gates, didn’t mean the people inside were inherently good. People still robbed, cheated, lied, killed. The smaller personal dangers of human interaction would never end, whether with Mages, Seers, unTalented, or anyone else. Human beings fucked over human beings when they felt like it because that was what human beings did. That was why Enforcers existed to protect against rogue Mages, or why Healers were there to mend wounds. Spirits’ sake, if everyone with ill intent was kicked out of the city, only Healers and Enforcers would remain because their seiyunne exacted a threefold toll on them; use their magic for ill intent and they would be fucked. Anyone else could do it all they wanted and be fine.

So why did everyone think they could come to Irridian and everything would be magically better? Magetowns were filled with everyday magic, not impossible dreams.

“You certainly like to keep things interesting for me,” Janelle mused as she peered beneath the woman’s body.

“Thank fucking Irridia,” Vikenti growled under his breath and shoved himself away from the wall. “You people done, finally? Someone going to bother talking now? Or are we going to sit here for another hour in silence?”

“So impatient,” Janelle commented.

“Tell me about it.” Keiran flipped a page in the report. “Finds a way to complain about everything.”

“And you’re stuck with him.”

“Right? With me in Special Crimes Unit we keep being assigned the same cases.”

“Entertaining, maybe?” Janelle asked.

“Maybe,” Keiran said.

“Sweet Irridia, and now they’re gossiping,” Vikenti growled.

“Postmortem Examiner Rodres.” Besin stepped closer to the bodies. He even raised his hand, as if this were a classroom. 

Vikenti scoffed. 

“Tell me,” Besin continued, “you said before you have not seen a dearth of bodies which have wasted away as their cause of death, but have you seen any at all?”

Janelle shook a roll of dark hair out of her eyes and tilted her head to examine the left ankle of the old man. “As I told you before, call me Janelle. And as I also said before, I have not.”

“It seems so unlikely.” Besin paced the room, circling the bodies. “What an oddity. Why would there have been no deaths if Ancient D’ria was near?”

“Maybe no one else saw it?” Keiran offered.

“It should have called to them if anyone was in the vicinity, as it did with Special Enforcer Shaw. What were the differences between the bodies?” 

Vikenti stared at Besin. “You’re kidding me, right? Do you not have eyes to see the bodies in front of you?”

“No, no, no, I mean their surroundings! What was the context?”

“You’re getting awfully bent out of shape over this, kid.” 

“Of course I am! You all should be, too. This is very alarming!”

“Yeah, and none of us get why. Something about some dead language that allegedly seduces other people and blah blah. You know that’s all such ancient history that none of us believe you, right?”

“I believe him,” Keiran muttered.

“I have formed no opinion.” Janelle sighed from her crouch, her elbows resting on her knees. The clothing and hair of the bodies floated gently in an unseen wind; as if they were immersed in water. They looked pleasant and calm; the relaxed visage of a gentle dreamer. “I certainly wish I could touch them, though. It would help a lot.”

“What exactly happened to the first victim? It does not specify in this report.” The voice was smooth, quiet.

“Oh, look. Corrin lives. By the way—who are you, again?”

Corrin ignored Vikenti and stood. Leh walked over to Janelle, and handed her the ream of paperwork from the bodies. Janelle flashed a thankful smile and placed it on the floor. The sandy color of the parchment nearly washed out against the white floor. Janelle stayed crouched and thoughtful, her dark hair twisted back at the nape of her neck.

“The first victim was found near the waterline by a child who lived in Teduria. According to the kid’s account, she was out playing when she noticed something dark. She went to investigate and found the body, but because she was a child she didn’t understand what was happening. She thought the victim was asleep, ignored the ‘colorful bubble,’ as she called it, and tried to shake the woman’s shoulder. The child said that as soon as she touched the bubble, ‘something scary happened’ and the body disintegrated. All that was left was black ash that blew away in the wind.”

“And this child didn’t mention any time lapses?” Besin pressed, moving next to Corrin. “No one else did?”

Janelle shook her head. “No, no time lapses, nothing. The child reported this to her parents but of course there was no evidence that it had occurred, and the town is largely unTalented. I’ve heard they’ve had a strong suspicion of Talented the past decade or so, something to do with Charlatans. I didn’t get much information on that. What relates to our bodies is that because of those reasons and because it’s in Degrena’s outer district, we didn’t hear of this at first and we don’t know that woman’s identity. When Votav was found by Ystis Gulf, as far as we knew that was the first of its kind.”

“Why did no one breach the protective layer in that case?” Corrin asked. “If you had no knowledge that it would be problematic to have done so, how is it that this body was not touched?”

“We might have, except we were lucky in that case.” Janelle’s lips twisted wryly. “The Empath Traveling Division happened to be out in that area searching for Mages—”

“Was it Carina?” Besin asked.

“What?” Janelle blinked at him.

“Carina Arenth, was she there?”

“Oh, yes. She was the one who first brought it to my attention.”

Besin nodded and waved for Janelle to continue.

“As I was saying, the Empaths learned of it when the local uTs told them about a body they had just discovered. They said it was Votav, who had been ill with a contagious disease for a long time so he’d been quarantined on the edge of the village. One of the fishermen found him and, believing the bubble to be dangerous, did not touch him. When the Empaths viewed the body they recognized that some sort of magic was involved, although they couldn’t initially identify the specific seiyunne, so they called in the crime scene techs.”

Keiran raised her hand idly. “Present.”

“Since the situation potentially involved volatile magic in an unTalented zone, I went out as well,” Janelle said. “When I viewed the body, I noted the odd protective layer and chose not to touch it until I could research what it was. I noticed that the body did not appear to be deteriorating the way I would have expected as time passed, so it gave me the opportunity to take my time with research.”

“Did you Conjure the body back to Irridian?” Corrin asked.

“Yes, Atos did. I worried at first that it might affect the body or that layer, but to go by foot back to Irridian would’ve taken far too long and exposed it to too many contaminants. Luckily the Conjuring didn’t affect it. That’s the only magic I’ve dared use on it, though, aside from the typical levitation and preservation, but I took great care to leave a layer of empty space between my spells and the field on the bodies. I’m worried about triggering latent instability.”

“Did any investigator begin researching during that time?” Besin asked. “Perhaps interviewed the witnesses?”

“No,” Vikenti said. “Not yet. The P.E. first has to identify cause of death before we assign an investigator. If it’s natural causes, no point in wasting time on it. Especially on a uT outside of Irridian.”

“Correct.” Janelle pushed herself to a stand and circled the bodies to pause near the young woman. The dead girl wore a yellow sun dress and her light brown hair was pulled back in two small braids on either side of her head, holding back the top of her hair while letting the lower part float free. Her hands rested on her stomach, folded one over the other as if she had lain down for a nap in the sun and had not yet woken up.

She looked so peaceful it was hard to imagine that she was dead, let alone potentially murdered.

“Before I had identified anything, we learned of another body four days later. This time it was Micha from Salasia.” Janelle gestured to the young woman. “She was found dead outside the family vacation home, with the same protective layering as Votav. Micha was the first victim we can verify was not unTalented; she was a young Provenier who had recently connected with seitai and was planning to move to Irridian to start academy next semester. The local Enforcers found the body and, noting the oddity of it, sylphed us before touching it to see if we knew of any patterns or if we wanted to check it out. We had Atos bring Micha here without breaching the barrier. That was a week and a half ago. Then, of course, earlier this evening Osin was found.”

Janelle gestured to the body that Keiran and Vikenti had recovered.

“What do we know of Osin?” Besin asked.

“Osin Malaiwa, twenty-five years old; born in Degrena, raised in Selin. He was an Enthraller—”

“An Enchanter,” Corrin murmured. “Interesting.”

Vikenti nodded and continued. “Well known around town; bit of a flirt, mostly a loser. Got in trouble with the local law a lot; stole from others, Enthralled them to do it. Pissed a lot of people off. Owed a lot of people money. Hurt a lot of people, even as recent as earlier that day.”

“How do you know?” Besin asked. “You couldn’t possibly have had time to interview between when I met with you in the woods and now.”

“I sylphed Degrena before coming down here to get more context. They said he’d Enthralled a woman hours before he died. Made her give him all her money even though she needed it for the Healers to save her son, and he knew it. That’s how he marked her in the first place, they said; saw the money she’d been hoarding until she could pay, figured he’d get a nice payday out of it. He got her with the kid on the way to the Healers. I got info her kid took a turn for the worse. May not make it now.”

Expressions tightened around the room.

“Is it possible that woman wanted revenge?” Corrin asked.

Janelle straightened, letting out a long, low breath. “Honestly, I might have thought that, if he’d died differently. But in this case, this MO matching the other vics means there’s some sort of connection between them that we aren’t seeing yet, and that might be what got him killed.”

“The tally is one unTalented, one untrained Provenier, one unknown, and an adept Enthraller?” Besin looked at the others. “What are their similarities?”

“Geography, primarily.” Keiran said. “They were all found on Serine.”

“Can we be certain this hasn’t occurred on the other continents?” Corrin asked. “The other continents do not have as strong of a Mage community. Isn’t it possible that the unTalented have not known to contact us or chose not to? And what of the Wildlanders on Vedura Li—do you have contact with them? Or the Seers on Ameset?”

Vikenti barked out a laugh. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think anyone will ask the Seers. No one’s about to start another world war.”

“We have limited contact with the Wilders,” Keiran answered. “And you’re right that the unTalented population could simply not know to tell us if something happened, or could specifically choose not to. So we’re operating on the assumption that these are all the bodies there are, while knowing they’re just the bodies we have.”

“We sylphed the other Mage departments; told them to watch for something similar,” Vikenti added. “Tell us if they found anything.”

“And I’ve done the same with the other P.E.s,” Janelle said. 

“So the first body was found in Teduria. Following that, the bodies were located in Selin, then Salasia, and finally Byrraine. Isn’t that odd?” The others glanced at Besin at his question, so he continued, a finger ticking against his lips. “That means the killer started south, went north to Byrraine, and then straight south through Salasia and Selin. But Teduria is nearly as south as Selin. Why not stay south first, do Teduria then Selin, and then go up? Or any other order?”

“That’s assuming they’re physically traveling.” 

Besin looked curiously at Keiran. “They aren’t?”

Her lips edged to the side in thought. “That’s another oddity about all this. Other than the possible matched sig I had at Osin’s scene, I so far haven’t seen indication of anyone else being present. Yet.”

“What do you mean?” Corrin asked, intrigued.

Keiran screwed up her face. “Well. _Normally_ , it’s easier. I can find footprints, broken branches, hairs, blood, a magical signature, _something_ left behind. Normally that would give me something to go off. But with these scenes, the only evidence I’ve been finding so far is that of the people who found the bodies and reported it.”

“Is it possible their presence unintentionally covered that of the killer’s?” Corrin asked. “Perhaps stepping over another footprint, and thereby erasing the previous indentations?”

“Possible,” Keiran said, “but not likely. You’d have to do that sort of thing very much on purpose to totally erase someone else’s presence. And even then I could usually find some clues.”

“So what does that mean?” Besin asked.

“Nothing yet.” Keiran shrugged with one shoulder and swung her hair over her back. “Just another oddity on an odd case.”

“But how is it possible to have no indication of anyone else present in any of these crime scenes if this seems to clearly be a case of serial killing?” Besin asked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time we had a crime spree with what looks like no solid evidence at first.” Vikenti pulled out his estes roll and tapped it against his wrist as if to release ash, even though it wasn’t lit. Force of habit. 

Janelle and Keiran gave him a knowing look.

“What sort of crime sprees?” Besin asked.

Vikenti scrunched up his face. “I’ve had some annoying ones. Usually Conjurers are involved.”

“And the lack of footprints?” Besin pressed. “How does that equate, as a Conjurer would still need to stand somewhere even if he Conjured himself over there?”

“Not necessarily.” Vikenti rolled his tongue along the rough bottom of the estes roll. “I had a case once. There was this Conjurer who hooked up with a wannabe Jaded Dragon, decided to start stealing shit from his neighbors ‘cause he could see what they had by looking through their windows at night. Their stuff started disappearing middle of the night, he was a little too interested in their shit in conversation leading up to the theft so they suspected him right away, only his sig wasn’t really in the homes. Not the extent you’d expect, anyway. It was there but really low-level. Hard to prove he was involved, seeing as he lived nearby and could argue all sorts of shit like his sig reverberated out and stained their homes on account of him popping in and out of his own home so much.”

Corrin had turned to watch Vikenti in interest. “Is that possible?”

Vikenti tipped his hand back and forth. “Yes and no. Possible, not plausible. But it was even more implausible the guy was popping into their homes, stealing their shit, and popping back out without leaving footprints or other evidence behind. 

“Ah,” Vikenti added with raised eyebrows, “right, I forgot to mention. One of the vics was an eccentric Spiritualist. His whole house was filled with exotic plants and animals, most of it lethal. Not a normal floor in the place; there was glass sand strewn all over one room, a killing tree in the next, enaberries in his back room, shit like that. He’d heard about valuables going missing in the neighborhood, and he had this box he was given ages ago; a family heirloom, I guess you’d say. Real intricate, real old, real expensive in the right circles, but to him it was mostly real sentimental. He didn’t want his shit going like his neighbors’ had, so he put his box in a room that he figured’d be impossible to burgle. Had all the traps he could muster in it—vines with poisonous spines all across the ceiling and walls, fish that would eat even through your bones in a pool covering the whole floor, no windows, only door opened halfway up the wall, all sorts of stuff. What it came down to was, there was no way for anyone other than him to stand in that room and access that box. And yet, one night it’s gone.”

Besin’s eyes were wide and round. “What happened?”

Vikenti’s lips twisted to the side dryly. “Well. Like I said, he’d hooked up with this guy who was convinced he was the next big thief in Irridian. The Conjurer was passable in most regards, really sucked at permanence of people so he was no good at sending anyone somewhere for good. But he excelled at precision and movement.”

Keiran grinned at Corrin and Besin’s rapt expressions. “What they were doing was, they would figure out where the item was in the other house and then go to a similarly sized space in his own home. His boyfriend would get up high, like stand at the top of a set of stairs or stand on a chair or whatever was equivalent to the distance they needed, and then he would jump.”

“The second he hit the air,” Vikenti continued, “Conjurer-boy would pop his boyfriend over to the other room, the boyfriend would snatch the item as he fell, before he hit the floor he’d be snatched back to the Conjurer’s home where he’d land and have the stolen item with him.”

“It was pretty brilliant, honestly.” A smile lingered on Keiran’s lips. “See, the boyfriend never used his magic so there was no sig to match him to, the Conjurer’s sig did pop up there but because he used such minimal, precise application of his powers it was incredibly faint, and he didn’t have to use his magic to bring his boyfriend back; he just let the natural state of the world do that for him. After all, if a Conjurer sucks at permanence then the thing he sent over’s gonna pop back in front of him right away anyway.”

“So the only permanence he really had to worry about was the item itself that was stolen, which was usually pretty small and therefore within his capabilities,” Vikenti finished. “It was slick.”

“How did you ever prove it was him, then?” Besin asked.

Janelle and Keiran laughed.

Vikenti grimaced. “Well. One time, they targeted a room they thought was empty at the time, ‘cause he watched his neighbor leave. But turned out the neighbor’s wife was home sick, only she wasn’t sick, she was having an affair in the same room where thief-boyfriend popped in on a scene he wasn’t expecting to see, and she and her affair sure weren’t ready for him, either.”

“He ended up dropping onto the guy right in the middle of,” Keiran rocked her hands in C-motions toward each other, her eyebrows raising and a smirk overtaking her features. “Knocked the guy ass over feet with her still attached. It was hilarious.”

“We still laugh about that one down here.” Janelle paused, a smile growing. “I try to think of it like, that poor woman. But every time I imagine it, I just…” She chuckled and covered her eyes, shaking her head.

Corrin’s eyebrows shifted up slightly. Besin looked halfway between horrified and confused. 

Vikenti snorted. “Yeah, well. Here’s to hoping we aren’t seeing shit like that again here. If the way they’re killing them is a similar style of precision Conjuring, it’ll be a pain in the ass to solve.”

“Finding out the cause of death will help determine the likelihood of that,” Keiran said. “I’d be able to notice downward momentum in a killing stroke if one ends up existing that we can’t see right now.”

Vikenti nodded.

“Do you think that might help explain the reason for choosing those cities in that particular pattern?” Besin asked.

Vikenti shrugged. “Could. Assuming the people who died were not specifically sought out as individuals.”

“Your thought is that it wasn’t targeted?” Corrin asked.

“Well, targeted for what?” Vikenti patted his chest to make sure the rest of his estes rolls were still there. It was an absentminded habit he couldn’t break, even in situations when he couldn’t smoke. “There are different kinds of killers. Some have it out for a specific person, some don’t. Say I’m the killer, and I want to kill Janelle and not anyone else. I’d have to find my way across the world to where she is.”

“Be still my heart.” Janelle placed her hand on her chest.

Vikenti made a face at her. “Shut up.” He focused on Corrin again. “Or, I could decide I hate Healers and want to kill any Healer, and Janelle just happens to be the first Healer I see. Or could be I wanted to kill a Mage, any Mage, and Janelle happened to be the only Mage in range. Or I could just want to kill anyone and, again, Janelle happened to be my choice. Or maybe I decided she was the best choice and I still sought her out, but not because she was Janelle; simply because she was the perfect Healer or Mage or whatever for my plans.”

“In this hypothetical, I hope, scenario,” Janelle drawled, “I’d like to know what I did to deserve such devoted focus of your homicidal rage.”

“Oh, that’s easy. Your crime was being a pain in my ass.”

Janelle laughed.

Belatedly, Vikenti realized he was lucky Harper wasn’t around. He would have handed the Conjurer a line that would’ve been way too easy to run with, there.

He scowled at Janelle as if it were her fault and turned back to Corrin, who was still listening patiently. “Anyway, there’s also other variations. It’s hard to know why these four were killed and not others, until we can figure out the motive. Either way, maybe as a killer I have an order in my mind, like I’m first going to do a Healer, any Healer, and then an Illusionist; or maybe that I want to kill Janelle and then Arenth and then Keiran. Maybe I have a method to my madness like that, maybe I don’t. But if Byrraine or Votav or any of these pieces were of specific interest for the killer, that could be another explanation for why it jumps around geographically.”

“There is a progression in the bodies in that regard, to an extent,” Janelle said. “We don’t know the age or, really, anything about the first woman. But our best guess is she was likely unTalented. Next vic was an old, unTalented man who would have posed little threat. Then a young woman who was an untrained Mage. Even though she had access to seiyunne, she couldn’t control anything. She would be nearly as unthreatening of a Mage as could be found. Then there’s Osin, a fit young man who was an adept Mage. He was the greatest threat of any of them, physically and magically.”

“That’s an alarming escalation when you put it like that,” Besin said.

Janelle nodded gravely. She stood, pulling her Healer robe straight in the movement. “Getting back to the original question, the last point of interest is that Osin was the only one found in the woods. The rest of them were found in the open.”

Keiran added, “I didn’t see anything initially indicative of the cause of death or even any sort of violent attack at the crime scenes I visited, other than I did notice a similar circular compression of the ground. But I can’t verify they are the same because the environments were too different. The other similarity, for what it’s worth, is that all of them were in sight of water. Some of them were on the shore or near water, and Osin was the farthest away but still well in sight of the Gulf of the Night.”

“Woods,” Besin muttered at the same time Corrin murmured, “Water…”

Vikenti eyed the two of them. “That mean something to you nerds?”

“The water, no. Woods… possibly.” Besin rubbed his chin. “I will retire to the library.”

“Now?” Keiran asked in surprise. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Yes, yes.” Besin looked around distractedly. “Where did I place my bag? I must bring it with me.”

“Wait.” 

At Corrin’s voice, Besin looked over curiously. “Yes?”

“What did Special Enforcer Shaw mean earlier, when he referenced a dead language?”

“Sweet Irridia,” Vikenti grumbled, and scrubbed at his face. Why was he always stuck with the nut bags, and the nut bags’ lesser evil twins: the wonderers?

“Oh yes, that,” Besin was saying. “I believe Osin has a connection of some sort to the Alurri. Or, at least their language.” 

Corrin’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?”

“See? It’s insane.”

“Special Enforcer Shaw,” Besin chastised, “I challenge you to explain why, precisely, it is that the resurrection of our dead brethren and their well-documented, sentient language should be such an unbelievable event to you, in a world that is filled with unbelievable occurrences? Not the least of which being those bodies right there. None of this has been seen for thousands of years, but why should they not be seen now?”

Vikenti stared at Besin. “Is this—” He looked around at the others and pointed at Besin. “Is he asking me a serious question right now, or is he joking? I can’t tell when he answers his own question _within_ the question.”

Besin sighed heavily. “I feel sorry for your lack of imagination. It must be very difficult living your life in such a way.” He patted Vikenti on the shoulder awkwardly.

Janelle snorted out a laugh, tried to stop it at Vikenti’s glare, then laughed more loudly when Keiran couldn’t help joining in. 

Vikenti’s hackles rose. He slapped Besin’s hand away. “Listen, kid. Don’t do your condescending bullshit to me. I’m not in the business of academic imagination; I’m in the business of following leads. If you can get me a good lead with _some_ form of proof, I’ll follow you down your insane trail. But fact of the matter is, you have yet to say how some dead language killed those people, or have even a single shred of evidence of the Alurri being alive aside from their language showing up. You have a theory about it enthralling me, okay. Fine. I know _something_ happened there, just not yet what. But those dead fucking bodies right there didn’t kill themselves, far as we know, and you yourself said it doesn’t match the expected manner of death for Ancient D’ria being the culprit. So stop with the legends for the moment and get us a lead that’s in the _present,_ not thousands of years in the past.”

Besin’s lips pursed as he eyed Vikenti. “Fair enough. I can search for such proof at the library.”

“That reminds me,” Keiran said, “you said you’d tell us how you captured the language?”

“Oh.” Besin absently patted his pocket, possibly reassuring himself the parchment was there the same way Vikenti did his rolls. “That’s simple. First, I’ve placed dual containment and constriction spells on a special type of paper which has necessary and inherent magical properties that it has acquired from its specially curated environment. Then I create a magical vacuum within the inveiglement calamus which naturally attracts Ancient D’ria in the entirety of its form. The language is drawn into the vacuum but is caught and compressed by the spells on the parchment, thus removing it as a danger to the world at large by imprisoning it within the paper. I hate to remand the language that way, but we have yet to find a solution that is safe for everyone involved that does not include containing it to the page.”

“Interesting,” Janelle mused, watching him thoughtfully. “Do you think something like that could work on this protective layer? Get it out of the way so I can work on the bodies themselves?”

Besin frowned at the bodies. “I wouldn’t dare risk it. I created this method for Ancient D’ria through trial, error, and a strong knowledge base provided to me by my mentor who taught me the language. I couldn’t say if it would work on any other form of magic and would fear something calamitous might happen if I tried.”

“It’s possible there is a different connection to the past,” Corrin said. “Head Librarian Arenth, I would like to accompany you to the library. You have a section devoted to ancient medicine, do you not?”

“Of course. We have an entire wing dedicated to archaic and ancient everything. Why, we even have a room dedicated solely to Arrindell, and another for Incarnations—”

Vikenti groaned and Keiran smacked him on the arm. 

“This is why I can’t stand that freak friend of yours,” he growled under his breath to her.

“Shut it,” she hissed.

“Why would you like information on ancient medicine?” Besin continued curiously, ignoring the others.

“I wonder about the water connection. There are mundane possibilities for its location, such as a potential mode of transportation for the culprit if they are not a Conjurer, but I would like to approach the question from a different angle. Could their deaths be related to an ancient contagion I recall reading about, that has somehow remained in the water all this time unbeknownst to us?”

“Even though those water sources were nowhere near each other?”

Corrin nodded. “I recall reading about a contagion that could spread through the water via animals, and did not harm any but humans. I do not recall how long it could live out of water but even without that, it is always possible that somebody independently poisoned the areas.”

“A Conjurer,” Vikenti said, brightening. _Finally,_ something that wasn’t bat shit insane. Still very sketchy with a lot of holes, but at this point a maniacal Conjurer hopping around dropping poison into water supplies, maybe even Jaded-Dragoning it like the other guy, was a better option than a soul-sucking language and/or extinct Mage sect that mysteriously appeared and popped a magic shell around bodies nowhere near each other with no immediately discernible connections. 

“Interesting theory. Going to the library would get you more information to strengthen it?” 

Corrin shrugged at Vikenti. “Theoretically, although I have to verify I’m remembering it correctly. I learned of this long ago so my memory is vague. Head Librar—”

“Besin,” Besin said.

“Besin,” Corrin amended, strangely grudgingly. Vikenti did not understand where IEHQ found these bizarre ass people. “Is it alright with you if I accompany you?”

Besin smiled broadly. “Of course! I would love the company! I must do more research, myself. Special Enforcer Shaw is correct that my theory about the Alurri is severely flawed at the moment. Particularly since the more I ruminate, the more I feel there is evidence solely in support of Ancient D’ria being in existence, but as a sentient language such an event does not require that the Alurri were resurrected in addition. I don’t believe Ancient D’ria is responsible for those deaths, per se, but at the same time I feel it must be connected. I should like to study this further.”

Corrin smiled. “Good. I should like to hear more about this language, as well. I know very little.”

Besin slumped in disappointment. “If you had read my book, Aftermath of a Cata—”

“Nobody’s read your damn book, you damn nerd!” Vikenti burst out. “Get out of here, for Irridia’s sake! I can’t handle this anymore.”

Janelle chuckled and dusted off her pants. “I’ll lead you out. No one can pass through the morgue unaccompanied unless they’re an Enforcer.”

“Thank you,” Corrin said politely.

“Vika, Keir. Will you be here when I get back?”

“I might return to my desk.” Keiran played with her braid, brushing the tips of her hair across her lips. “I need to double check something.”

“I’ll be here,” Vikenti said decisively, and sat down to prove his point. 

“Right. Keir, want to come with us, then?”

Keiran nodded and gathered some paperwork. Besin grabbed his bag and Corrin was already ahead of them both, trailing directly behind Janelle as they left the room. The doorway shimmered briefly with protective magic as they passed through, and being used to it Vikenti ignored the splash of color in his peripheral vision. There had been a time when he had felt wonder at the beauty of magic laid bare before his eyes, back when seirene was new to him. Now he hardly saw the beauty in the color of nature, let alone any seiyunne.

As if she were a Seer or possibly an Enthraller, Janelle seemed to be in line with his mood. He overheard her speaking softly to the group as the door began to close.

“Don’t judge Vikenti too harshly. He used to be friendlier, before Children’s Day.”

The door shut on any other words she may have said, and he was thankful for it. Left alone in a room of bodies that seemed suspended in the moments before their own death, he felt more at home here than he had among the truly living.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't say I didn't warn you about the twins.

"You sure that’s it?"

Hunter’s eyes remained trained on the building. "Yes." 

Cypress hummed doubtfully and snapped off a piece of jerky. The building across the street was massively disappointing. Fucking Watchdogs acted like they were better than everyone else, snapping people up left and right for bullshit reasons, and here was their headquarters, looking like shit. No windows, one story, right on a busy ass street. People passed the place by like it was a library, no idea how deep that thing ran into the ground. 

Nothing about it was impressive other than how much it sucked.

The apartment they’d broken into for this view of their mark was pretty shitty. Even with the window closed, he could hear things filtering through the glass. The drone of humanity wasting their time talking about shit no one cared about, hoping someone listening would think their life mattered. 

News flash: it didn’t. 

Or maybe they talked so much to distract themselves from how hot Irridian was. The already obnoxious humid summer felt ten times worse inside the ultimate Magetown, leaking its way even into their closed room. His sweaty skin stuck to every surface, from his clothing to the floor. He kept smacking the back of his neck thinking a bug was on him when it was just his sweat rolling down instead.

“Stop doing that.”

Cypress made a face at his twin. “Doing what?”

“Being such a child.”

“How the fuck am I being—”

“I can hear your angry chewing from here, and every time you smack yourself…” Hunter trailed off, faintly glowing eyes closing. He turned away from the window and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Cypress felt maybe a little bit guilty at that, considering his brother was using Enhanced Senses. 

He huffed out a breath instead, and pushed himself to a stand. He quickly learned pacing the room did nothing to affect his impatience, though. Whoever normally lived in this tiny ass apartment didn’t bother to own much, or was too poor to buy much. Must not be a Provenier, because they tended to create whatever in yenrre they wanted in their homes. And Conjurers weren’t much better; they just grabbed shit from elsewhere in the world and popped it into their living space, assuming they weren’t shit at permanence.

Privileged dicks.

Hunter, as a Provenier, might not agree with that assessment.

Cypress glanced back and saw that Hunter had pulled his prototype viewer closer. Little more than a handful of moon stones on a giant mineral block, it was the first thing Hunter had invented. It wasn’t nearly as good as the latest version, but it was easiest to set up and Hunter was convinced they had to go low tech on this heist to avoid detection. In the flat top of the block which functioned like a screen, a faint green circle pulsed and stuttered over Irridian Enforcer Headquarters across the street. The circle was supposed to stay solid and even, not jump around like a kid with worms.

“What’s with that?” Cypress asked.

Hunter’s lips thinned. “Interference.”

Cypress perked up. 

Hunter narrowed his eyes; as always, hearing his brother’s unspoken words. “I can fix it.”

 _“Can_ you?” Cypress didn’t bother keeping the smugness from his tone. It was always a good day when he could rub something in Hunter’s face. _“I_ think we’re gonna have to use the other one.”

“The upgraded version is unreliable in Irridian. That’s why we’re trying the prototype. With the level of magic saturating the air here, its usual weakness should become a strength.”

“Yeah, yeah, you said that shit already but clearly it ain’t working. We’re definitely gonna have to use the upgrade on go day.”

“The whole point we’re here is to make _that_ version work better. It doesn’t make sense to use an unreliable viewer on one of our most dangerous heists, especially when we’re stealing a component to make it more reliable. It’s counter-intuitive and stupid.”

 _And I don’t like it_ , were the words that hung petulantly in the air. Hunter always got his panties in a twist when things didn’t go his way. Cypress thought it was fun to watch.

“Plan all you fucking want,” Cypress said casually, words slightly muffled around another giant bite of jerky, “but whatever you think’s most logical don’t have a say in reality. You want that shit to work properly? Too bad. It ain’t working. If we can’t even get the fucking building to show on it right, no way you can track me inside.”

“I can fix it,” Hunter said more firmly. 

He picked up the stone and quickly made some movements across the surface with his left fingertips. His right hand and arm was, of course, covered by both an elbow-length black glove and a detached sleeve which was connected to his bicep with a complicated set of straps. Hunter had once told Cypress that the screen responded best to the warmth of bare fingertips, which was why he only used his left hand on it. 

Cypress made it a point to not think about Hunter’s right arm, because every time he did he had to deal with way too many emotions that made him feel all sorts of things he hated feeling, and made him want to do all sorts of things he couldn’t do. 

Even staying quiet apparently wasn’t enough. 

Without looking up, Hunter said flatly, “Stop it.”

“I didn’t—”

“Bullshit you weren’t doing anything. You know I don’t like it when you give me that look.”

Cypress made a face at him. “Excuse me for giving a fuck about my brother.”

“We aren’t having this argument again,” Hunter said evenly and otherwise ignored him.

Cypress didn’t bother answering, because it never went anywhere different no matter how many times they had this conversation. 

After a few more seconds of Hunter tinkering and Cypress finishing his jerky, Hunter swore vehemently and set the stone on the floor. He stared narrow-eyed and hard at Cypress, who slowly smiled and started toward his knapsacks in the corner.

“You shouldn’t be so happy about this,” Hunter said. “It means more danger for you.”

“That’s my normal state of being, so who cares? At least I get to crash some fucker’s black market deal now.”

“We might have enough left to—”

“Bullshit we do. You’re the one that wants me to have your tracker on when I go in the Dog Pound, if I have to go in. _You’re_ the one that already said we’re too low on the filaments.”

“Right.” Hunter neither looked, nor sounded, happy.

“And _you’re_ the one who said we can’t use anything else.”

“We can’t. Mote faerie cocoons are the only way to get the filaments I need as a proper safeguard.”

“So,” Cypress gave him a shit-eating grin over his shoulder, “here’s where I get to say: _told_ you we’d need the cocoons. They’re doing the deal at Road’s End, right? Did you hear yet if there’ll be selaria too?”

“No one’s even supposed to know about the transport itself, so no, I haven’t heard verification either way; only mixed messages. We’re lucky we know where and when it is, in the first place.”

Cypress crouched by the knapsack and pulled it open, rummaging around for the right set of jars. “Well, if I see any, I’ll get it. Never hurts to have more.”

Hunter was quiet. Then: “Will you be fine on your own?”

Cypress scoffed. “’Course I will. Will _you_ be fine here on _your_ own?”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Of course I will. How long will it take you to get ready?”

“Not long." Cypress held one of the jars up to the light streaming through the window. He scowled. "Running outta black." 

"Maybe that would change if you didn't show such blatant favoritism," Hunter said mildly. He sent a pointed look to Cypress' spiky hair, currently jet black.

“Look who’s talking, Red.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“You prefer Strawberries and Cream?”

Hunter glared. “My hair isn’t like strawberries or cream, and you know it.”

Cypress hummed. “Do I?”

Hunter looked ready to throw something at Cypress.

Cypress grinned evilly. “The stupidest things set you off.”

“Maybe I learned that bad habit from you.”

"Maybe I'll kick your ass," Cypress mocked, straightening his back and affecting what he felt was a suitably Hunter-like expression of not-quite-neutral distaste.

"Brilliant retort," Hunter murmured, to which Cypress gave him a rude gesture. "And that was even better. Very mature."

"I try." Cypress jerked open one jar, peering inside with a slight crinkling of his nose. "Damn. Running low on blond, too, and these seals're failing. Everything's gonna dry out."

"Then reinforce them." Hunter set the viewer aside and turned back to the building. "You have the capability."

"Yeah, good idea," Cypress said with a sneer. "I'll just make some hardcore spells over here, right by the Dog Pound. No one'll notice."

Hunter sighed. "Do me a favor. When you’re out on the street, call the Enforcers by their proper name. They aren’t ‘Dogs,' or ‘Watchdogs,' or any other derogatory slang you love to use. Nor is their Headquarters the ‘Dog Pound,' or any variation on that. Last thing we need is you drawing attention to yourself by angering them. Alright?"

"Shame." Cypress dipped his hand into the jar and pulled out a strip of seaweed covered in dark, glimmering slime. "Thought I'd walk right in there, say, ‘Hey, ya asshole Dogs, I'm an Unconscionable and there's a renegade Provenier up there, ‘cross the street fourth floor, and we're watching you. Don't do anything stupid or you'll regret it!'" 

He scrunched the seaweed up in one fist, some of the slime oozing between his fingers before he plopped it on his head and started working it through his hair. "But you showed me the error of my ways, brother dear. Definitely won't endanger the mission now. Good thing you reminded me that we're criminals and shouldn't draw attention to ourselves; I might have forgotten otherwise."

Hunter rolled his eyes. "I prefer your rude gestures to your sarcasm. It's more attractive, somehow."

"Everything about me's attractive," Cypress said with a scoff.

Cypress pulled a dull mirror out of his knapsack and studied his reflection to ensure he had full coverage in his hair. At the moment, his hair was sticky with seaweed and was blotted brown as if he had rolled in dirt. The silver hoop in his right eyebrow glinted faintly, as did the silver snake earring that wove in and out of the length of his left ear. He loved that earring; he’d even gotten an enchantment put on it ages ago that made its eyes blink and tongue flick, as if it were alive.

While waiting for his hair to set, he carefully took off his shirt and pulled on a new one; a peasant shirt that was dirty, had holes, and on which he’d written in black ink: _I’ll get you while you’re reading this._

He grinned proudly at his reflection. This was sure to piss off at least one person along the way. That would definitely make his day.

“I don’t know how you blend in so well when you always try to stand out so much,” Hunter commented.

Cypress’s grin turned smug. “I’m just that talented.”

Hunter scoffed but didn’t answer, and Cypress finished dressing. He put the seaweed back in the jar, rinsed his hands in a basin in the corner, and turned his attention to the rest of his change of clothing: a respectable set of linen pants, brown leather boots, and a pale blue tunic that turned his eyes a shade closer to grey. He left the tunic open so people could be scandalized by the text. He really hoped he ran across a sheltered, impressionable young kid or a cranky old biddy. They always had the best reactions.

Shoving all his old, dirty clothing in one bag, Cypress crawled over to the basin of water and tipped his head downward so that if the slime sloughed off early, it would only go into water. He’d learned the lesson the hard way that it would stain anything else to yenrre and back. 

He had to wait for the proper time limit before he washed out the concoction, or his hair color would be all manners of fucked up. He always got bored at this part, though, so it wasn’t long into silently counting before he spoke.

“Anything interesting in Let’s-Call-Them-Enforcer Land?” 

He heard the rustle of a shrug. “Maybe. The same man entered HQ twice, but I never saw him leave. I assume there are several exits, but I’m getting increasingly convinced there’s one that isn’t within the building itself. Maybe an underground tunnel connected to another building nearby.”

“If that’s true, we gotta stake that out too. Might be better off trying to get in that way.”

“Right.”

“Maybe they’ll be dumbfucks enough that they’ll store what we need there.”

Hunter shrugged lightly. “I doubt it, but maybe. This section of Irridian’s probably the oldest standing area in the world, with buildings remodeled more than anywhere else. If they were to hide something anywhere, it could be around here.”

“That'd be nice. I’d rather get the shit from a stakeout than have to go in like the backup plan.”

“Me too. But it’s looking increasingly likely the backup plan will be our only plan.”

Cypress grunted in annoyance. “Do you think it’s a trap?”

“I don’t know.”

“’Cause I keep wondering why the Mystic let us in.”

“I do too.”

Cypress lapsed into moody silence at that; there wasn’t much else that could be said. They were screwed either way: infiltrate on the free-for-all public bitch session the Enforcers held monthly and have it turn out to be a trap, or leave Irridian without getting what they needed. 

It wasn’t a choice. They had to go in. 

Nyten’s protection couldn’t hold out much longer.

A quiet groan and shift of weight grabbed Cypress’ attention. He peered through the trail of his slowly lightening hair and saw his brother drop against the wall with a strained look. Hunter was around Cypress’ same light olive complexion, although a bit darker than Cypress. The sleeveless black turtleneck he wore showed off his toned arms, except on the right where his detached sleeve covered everything below his upper arm. In that stretch of bare skin, Cypress could see that Hunter had paled.

“Release the fucking spell, you idiot!” Cypress snapped.

“I can’t see the entrance properly without—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck! You’ve been using Enhanced Senses all day. No one can leave it on as long as you have. I’ll kick your fucking ass if you hurt yourself in front of me.”

“But—”

“I swear to fucking Arrin, Hunter, I will force you to do it in two seconds if you don’t stop on your own. And then we really _will_ have fucked up our plans.”

Hunter scowled weakly but nonetheless obeyed. There was no sound to mark the release of the spell but there was the very faintest pulse to the air that any Mage would be able to feel. The glow of unnatural green left Hunter’s eyes, leaving the darker leaf green of his natural irises. 

Like all Mages, Cypress had used and stopped Enhanced Senses enough to know what Hunter was experiencing: The scene on the street below him would have fallen out of focus with nauseating abruptness and for a moment his mind would reel as it tried to make sense of his environment. Although Hunter had most likely primarily enhanced his sight, all the other senses always came along for the ride. The human mind and body were too interconnected to enhance one sense and not the others.

For that reason, to Hunter the wall against his arms would feel muted and dull; the murmured conversation from the passersby below would have faded into obscurity; and even the bitter scent of the weeds Cypress sealed in the jars would have dissipated. 

When they were younger, Cypress had tried to push the limits more than once for far too long. The result had been blindness for a week, and his sense of taste still wasn’t quite as sensitive as it used to be.

Only morons pushed it too far. He was willing to concede that he could be a bit of an idiot, himself, but his twin was typically more intelligent.

Just went to show how off-balance they both were. The internal countdown to Nyten’s protection fading was louder than any words they could ever say. Hunter usually acted like he wasn’t worried about things nearly as much as Cypress was, even though he had more reason than anyone else to fear a reprisal, but it seemed that even Hunter was finally starting to wear down and show some of his fear that Anastasia would return.

Anger rushed through Cypress at the very thought of it. He grit his teeth and breathed deeply, counting for an entirely different reason this time. Otherwise, it was too easy to think about how much he wanted to hurt everyone around him, everyone on the fucking planet if he could; except Nyten, the shadow casters, and Hunter.

Never would he ever harm Hunter.

“I’m fine.” Hunter’s voice was a little reedy but mostly annoyed. 

It only fueled the anger in Cypress the way it always did when Hunter shrugged off Cypress’ concern. A longstanding feud that had no end.

Cypress scowled at him but couldn’t get a good enough glare going with his awkward head angle. Hunter’s stupidity had made him lose count somewhere along the way as well. He judged that he must have had the mix on long enough. 

Better have, because if he didn’t have something productive to do he was going to blow some shit up in about 2.5 seconds.

He dunked his head entirely in the tub of water and scrubbed at the slime. It came out in stringy globs that clung to his fingers and slipped off his hair. Inky black seeped into the water, staining the edges of the porcelain base and, Cypress knew, his hands and face. Cypress sat up and blindly pulled another tub closer, this one filled with water tinged faintly green. Putting his head and hands in there, he couldn’t see it but knew that the grey-brown sloughed off him. When he sat up again and dried off his face and hair, the inky residue was gone.

Next he removed his piercings, which he placed very carefully in a small pouch that he made sure to properly store. Then he grabbed another jar near him and palmed it open, scooping out a bit of goo that was weaker than the slime from before. Sliding that through his hair with his fingers, he shaped it until his hair fell in a boring, indistinct way around his face. When he eyed himself in the mirror, the light fell on his hair and showed a mundane brown where once had been black.

"Whaddya think?" 

“Looks good. I don’t see any dark spots.”

Cypress nodded and unceremoniously shoved the items back into their specific bags. "Dogs're always looking for Illusions but they never think of dye. It’s fucking crazy."

“They probably think it isn’t necessary, since they can track magical signatures. Doesn’t matter how a person looks outwardly if they always show the same inward print.”

“Not if I don’t use _my_ magic,” Cypress said with a grin. 

Reaching over, he pulled their portable, paired sylphs closer; Lirin and Rilin, generally perfectly happy to spend their time curled up lazing about in the padded, climate-controlled box Hunter and Cypress used for them. Technically the sylphs could be used by anyone, but Lirin always got this grumpy look on her face when she was awoken and Cypress enjoyed that. He liked any creature that was perfectly willing to tell the world to fuck off, even if that creature had no voice. So he always took Lirin with him and left the more demure Rilin for his more respectable brother.

The sylphs looked, as always, like tiny little humans with exaggerated features. At the opening of the box, Rilin remained asleep, but Lirin lifted her head with the expected grouchy stare. Like Rilin but unlike most sylphs, Lirin’s coloring was lavender with swirls of periwinkle along her skin and clothing. Her hair was a short shock of violet that had first given him the idea to dye his own hair. 

She rubbed her eyes when her small home was jostled. As he reached into the box, he saw her tiny eyebrows quirk, as if she considered shoving him away. But in the end she allowed him to pick her up, careful as he always was not to hurt the delicate creature. When he pulled open his vest, she crawled into the protected inner pocket without any attitude or hesitation. 

She was too small for him to feel her against his chest, but he had wondered at times if his heartbeat felt thunderous to her. And if so, did she hate it or was it somehow comforting? 

He would never know, and mostly he didn’t care. He shut the box on Rilin, letting her return to darkness so she could fall back asleep.

Standing up, he threw on a nondescript brown cloak. It billowed impressively. 

“I’m off. Gonna walk the block, check some shit out, then go to Road’s End. I’ll Lirin you if anything comes up; you do the same.”

Hunter nodded and returned his attention to the street. "Watch the man in the red tunic with black lines up the back. Black hair, mid-thirties. He just showed up for the third time and I still haven’t seen where he left. Might be circling the block."

Cypress shrugged easily, unconcerned. "Probably trying to out the moles in the area but I’ll watch for him. Bet those ain't real Charlatans, either. I'll check the wares."

"I'll monitor."

Hunter enhanced his eyesight, lending the glow back to his eyes. Cypress narrowed his eyes at his brother but didn’t say anything, since he knew Hunter wouldn’t be stupid enough to push so far again in one day. He likely would drop the spell not long after Cypress left. 

Cypress thought his brother was zoning out and wouldn’t say more, but when he started to open the door a sharp syllable held him captive.

"Cy." 

Cypress turned to meet an intent gaze. "Aww. Is baby brother worried?"

Hunter snorted. "Hardly. Lirin. Don't forget, she hasn't been in the sun properly or in a forest for a few weeks. She'll be weak, even if Rilin won't be."

"My, Hunter. I've never used a sylph before. Thank you for telling me. I never would have known."

"Sarcasm," Hunter warned.

"Patronizing," Cypress said, sing-song, and left the room while waving a rude gesture. 

As he jogged down the stairs, he went over the plan in his mind. He’d have to check the area first, of course, like he told Hunter. But he’d have to take the long route to Road’s End just in case a Dog tracked him without him knowing. He also couldn’t get out of his mind that something felt a bit off about all this; the fact that the Mystic let them into the city was incredibly odd, same as the fact that the Dogs hadn’t noticed them, or… 

He didn’t know what, exactly, was causing the prickle of apprehension at the base of his neck. All he knew was it was there and wouldn’t go away.

Then again, seeing Hunter in pain might have done it. 

Bursting into the intense heat, he couldn’t have been more thankful for the distraction. Fuck thinking about anything but this moment, this day. That was all that mattered in life. There were no guarantees any of them had a future, especially him, and the past was the past. Think about anything too long and he’d be even more homicidal than usual.

Cypress patted his pocket gently, double-checking for Lirin’s sleeping body. It was a paranoid gesture that he couldn’t help, even though he’d just placed her there. He felt her curled up in a little ball as normal, with her moving her tiny head in sleepy acknowledgment of his presence. He thought about bringing her out to his shoulder to give her some warmth from the sun, but he didn’t dare do so this close to IEHQ. 

It was pretty normal for Mages to have a sylph with them, but he’d heard rumors that the Dogs could track sylph connections as accurately as Mage signatures. Whether or not that was true, he wasn’t about to risk it. Once Hunter and he had their shit, they needed to get the fuck out of Irridian before any of those bastards realized what Cypress was.

He had to wait for a carriage to pass, taking its sweet ass time as the kid driving it hadn’t figure out self-motivators yet. The open carriage kept jerking and rolling in fits and bursts, nearly running over a stray cat that darted across the road and right after that, almost hitting the Charlatan kid who ran after it. The Charlatan woman jumped up from the blanket she’d spread on the ground to sell her wares, and came yelling and screaming up on the carriage.

“Watch where you’re going, you piece of shit!” She slammed her hand on the edge of the carriage, making the driver jump guiltily and look terrified. The older girl helping him drive leaned over the side of the cart, her voice too low to hear the words across the busy street but apology all over her tone. The Charlatan was having none of it. “I don’t give a flying fuck what your brother is doing; you almost hit my kid! Look at lev!”

The little Charlatan kid sat back on the ground and cried great big tears, wailing so loud it had to have reached Hunter’s ears. Leh rocked back and forth, holding levs knee like it was hurt, even though Cypress knew for a fact the carriage hadn’t touched the kid.

He knew, because he’d done this same grift many times himself as a kid. While the driver and his sister were distracted, terrified about hurting the kid, and while the Charlatan “mom” screamed outrage at their audacity, a third Charlatan who blended into the background came jogging past. She had been staying away from the other Charlatans, acting unrelated, dressed like any other Irridianite. As she passed the back of the open carriage, her hand darted in and out so fast it would have been missed by anyone who didn't know what to look for. In seconds, she had their money pouches and probably some other goods, and she was already jogging across the street.

She swung past Cypress and for a second their eyes met. They didn’t have to say words; she knew he knew. She quirked an eyebrow slightly as if to ask if he would report her, and he simply smirked his approval. She flashed a smile, and was gone into the crowd as if she had never existed. The Charlatan “mother” kicked the wheels of the carriage for good measure, threw a few rude gestures their way, and ended it all on a drawn out reaming in her native language. Then she pulled the Charlatan kid back with her onto their blanket and tended to lev while the driver and sister got out of there as fast as they could before she attacked again.

No Enforcers had bothered to come out of the building in the interaction, which made Cypress wonder if they didn’t care or if they were simply going straight for the woman with the stolen goods rather than causing a scene in front of their HQ.

Either way, Cypress kind of hated that he had seen all that. He’d had a second of nostalgia, of belonging in watching that grift. But now that it was done, he was reminded all over again of how alone he and his brother were; of how fucked everything had become since those carefree days.

It was like the darkness in his mind was waiting to pounce on any weakness. The second he had that thought, the second he tried looking away from the Charlatan “mom,” a voice came bidden from his memory:

_—I won’t help a soul sucker live—_

He darted across the street without waiting for the next carriage to pass. It swerved to avoid him but he didn’t care. He knew he shouldn’t do this, he knew in front of the Dogs he needed to stay low, but his fucking mind was as charged with rotted thoughts as the air was humidity.

He felt a buzzing in his fingertips and down to his toes; a need for something deep inside he couldn’t fulfill, couldn’t name, couldn’t ignore but wanted to so fucking bad. He became way too aware he was an Unconscionable standing outside IEHQ. Standing in fucking Irridian, where everyone was a souls-damned threat.

What had previously been oblivious civilians around him now felt like Watchdogs with every step; monitoring his every move, his every expression, every hair on his fucking head.

 _They know,_ his paranoia told him. _They know and Hunter will be hurt again._

Fuck.

_Fuck._

He fucking hated every fucking person in existence. He loathed them for being born how they were born. For thinking themselves better than others. For the fucking genocide of his people and the fact that no matter where he went in this world, he would never be safe.

Fuck them and fuck the Dogs and fuck the Mystic and fuck _fucking_ Irridian.

His hands shook at his sides; the rage built in him when he wasn’t looking again, a predator rising at any glimpse of vulnerability. Filling him with the fury and hatred of every Defiler killed before him; with every time he was nearly killed as well. 

Not one of these people deserved to live.

His feet must have led him blindly across the street, because he realized he was in the alley near the HQ and didn’t remember getting there. He fought with everything he had against the urge to slam his fist into the wall; to destroy something to get rid of this anger and _fuck,_ it was happening again. 

It was happening more frequently lately. 

Why couldn’t he control the anger anymore? Why couldn’t he withhold this violent need for destruction?

This wasn’t right. Something was wrong.

He was used to anger when thinking about how fucked he and his kind was, but the sudden rise and fall of rage was happening too suddenly, too often, too dramatically, since he came to Irridian.

He dropped his back against the wall, curled forward as casually as he could, and breathed. Great, harsh gasps. In. Out. 

Breathe. 

_Breathe._

_Fucking_ breathe _or you’ll give it all away._

He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the environment around him. The sweltering heat and the building hot as forged iron at his back. The crunch of the dirt beneath his boots as he shifted his weight. The stagnant pulse of a weak breeze, bringing more heat and no relief. The distant conversations. 

The knowledge that Hunter was probably watching him, ready to step in or stop everything if he thought Cypress couldn’t handle it.

Cypress drew in a reedy breath; still thin and caught in his throat. He felt like he was suffocating but he knew he wasn’t. This pressure inside him, the pounding of his head and the raging of his heartbeat—a staccato ba _dum_ ba _dum_ ba _dum_ crescendoing without his say—these were all pieces of him that Nyten had told him to control. All bits she said would overcome him if he let it.

She said he was stronger than that. 

She’d said that. 

No one else had ever believed in him, but _she_ had. She and Hunter. Hunter and her. He had to control it for them. They were the only people who mattered in this souls-forsaken world.

Breathe. 

Breathe.

Lirin shifted in his pocket; the gentlest of movements from a fragile creature who had never done him harm.

Cypress gasped and with it he finally felt the air hit his lungs. He felt like he was rising above the darkness, that blanket of hatred that turned everything dark and fearful around him. He drew in breath like he’d been drowning, and maybe he had been. Maybe that’s what all this was; his power dragging him down lower and lower until there was nothing left of the person he had once been.

Maybe that was why the genocide had happened. Maybe all the other Defilers had failed, exactly the way he knew he would too someday. 

Maybe the whole world was right to fear his kind, because the truth was sometimes he was afraid of himself.

He dragged his lungs back into his control; steady breaths in and out that filled his chest and stilled the rumbling in his heart; the buzzing lightness of his brain.

He hadn’t had an attack like that in ages. What was wrong with him? Was it only the tension, or was it this city—so full of the magic he could sense but only steal?

He hoped Hunter hadn’t witnessed it; he didn’t want to start all over again with the passing stares and the silence in place of words they would never say.

Straightening, he opened his eyes slowly. The day felt abnormally bright now, as if he had enhanced his senses beyond anything before. Even in the shadows of this hot alley, it felt like he was staring into the sun.

He drew in another breath; this time deep and calm. The rage that had overpowered him was gone now, as if it had never existed. As turbulent as a violent summer storm; destroying lives and livelihood one moment, eerily silent the next.

Cypress pushed himself away from the wall and surreptitiously checked to see if anyone had witnessed his breakdown. There was no one around and he wasn’t in direct view of IEHQ. 

Lucky.

He started to walk around a pile of rags, but was stopped by a faint vibration of something magical stirring beneath them. He paused, looking down suspiciously. It didn’t feel like a typical Mage.

“Whaddya want?” a man’s gravelly voice said from under the cloth. 

Cypress jumped, startled, and was immediately annoyed with himself for the reaction.

A pair of bleary blue eyes appeared a moment later, encased in dark brown, scabbed skin and half-hidden by grey hair. “I gotta shaar-leese som’ere.” The man exaggerated his words until the colloquial abbreviation for Charlatan License was almost incomprehensible. With great effort he managed to push his bony body up.

Another Charlatan. No wonder he didn’t feel like a normal Mage. Cypress should have known.

“Shut up. I ain’t no Dog.” 

“Eh?” The man pushed himself up the wall, the pile of rags falling from his chest to pool in his lap. His clothes were tattered and looked as though they had been passed down a few generations before making it to his hands. “Whatcha doin’ here, then?”

“None of your damn business. The fuck do you care?”

The man shrugged slowly and rubbed at his face with one grimy palm. He looked around, as if trying to remember where he was. “Just a curious neighbor.”

Cypress snorted and studied the end of the alleyway to ensure no Enforcers were in the immediate vicinity. He’d leave as soon as he was sure the coast was clear. 

“You ain’t my neighbor,” he said offhandedly.

“Not now,” the man said, turning his ice blue eyes on Cypress with a disturbingly knowing look. “But I will be.”

That same prickling apprehension crawled up Cypress’ spine. It made him resent that damn old man, throwing him off with bullshit right after he had gotten himself back under control.

“Yeah? And what’re you, a Seer?”

“You ever met one, boy?”

Cypress smirked mockingly. “What’re you talking 'bout? Just met one now, didn’t I?”

The man smiled, and Cypress could see he was missing several teeth. The few that remained were dirty and nowhere near the color they should be. 

“You’re a smart one,” the man said happily, rubbing at greying whiskers poking out of his chin. “You’re meeting a real interesting one right now.”

“I’d go with ‘bat shit crazy’ before ‘interesting.’ Now how about you go predict me a future that don’t involve you?” Cypress turned his attention to the end of the alley again. “I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Nothing to worry about,” the man said amiably and settled back against the wall. “You already missed them.”

Cypress shot a suspicious look at the man. “What?” 

“Them Enforcers ain’t nowhere around right now. You should go now. Wait too long, and you’re stuck again.”

“What makes you think I give a shit about Enforcers?”

The man shrugged languidly and didn’t bother to respond. Cypress’ tension ratcheted up sevenfold. Was this man a Dog in disguise? Or was he an actual Charlatan?

But he didn’t feel like an Enforcer. He didn’t feel like a normal Mage at all.

No way he was a Seer, though. No Seer in their right mind would be inside Irridian in the first place, let alone sprawled out in the open not far from IEHQ.

In their right mind. This guy could be crazy. When it came to Charlatans and Seers both, insane as a rodworm was always an option.

And when it came down to it, people would say no Unconscionable in their right mind would be in this alley either, and look what dumbfuck was currently standing there doing just that.

He didn’t have time to stand around talking to random strangers, especially ones who were potentially out of their mind. 

Unaware of Cypress’ decision to ignore him, the man spoke up.

“What got you all worked up in a lather, anyhow? Seemed ready to break down, earlier. You got rodworm in your brain?”

“Shut up or I'll kill you.”

The man laughed loudly, merrily, and pat Cypress on the knee. “I like you, boy. You just call on Old Jack when you need him, yeah?”

Cypress leveled the man with a disgusted look. “Yeah, and when would I need some idiot like you?”

“Oh, you’ll need me,” Old Jack said with a sage smile. “There’s no question about that.”

“Yeah right.” Cypress pushed away from the wall and dusted his pant legs off, glaring down at Old Jack. “You tell anyone ‘bout my… moment, and I’ll hunt you down.”

“Why wouldja get all upset like that in public if you didn’t want no one seeing it?” 

Cypress made a disgusted noise from deep in his throat and turned his back on the man. “Just don’t, or you’ll find I’m not usually this nice.”

“Yes, yes,” Old Jack said, but he was grinning widely with sparse and blackened teeth. “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

“Why would I tell about a freak out I just told you not to tell about?” 

Old Jack shrugged, the smile remaining but turning more enigmatic. “I meant about the Seer, but your ‘moment’ works too.”

“The Seer? Don’t ya mean you?” Though Cypress’ tone was twisted with mocking, there was a note of bewilderment as well.

Old Jack only smiled, and after several seconds of silence Cypress shook his head dismissively. “Whatever.” 

He strode away, giving Old Jack one last warning glare over his shoulder. He thought he heard Old Jack say something, but didn’t bother listening to what it was.

\+ + +

Cypress crouched in the shadows of the warehouse's ceiling, resting expertly on a ledge that was barely half the length of his feet. One hand was splayed against the wall behind him, palm open. The special gloves he wore caught against the smooth stone, holding him securely while his other arm dangled between his knees. 

He had switched his clothing out again from one of many knapsacks he had hidden around the city. After Old Jack, he had felt too paranoid to continue in the same outfit. This time it was all black with no cloak to catch on anything, although his fitted black tunic held a hood that sheltered his face.

The plan to steal and run had been foiled by these idiots turning a black market transport into a fucking flea market. They had set their shit up on tables in the alleyway and kept the crates of items in the abandoned warehouse right behind where Cypress had eventually migrated and now crouched. And even stupider, people actually showed up to buy shit.

Granted, the wares they put out on the tables all looked legit, and this sort of thing was weirdly common in Irridian, Cypress had come to find in his wanderings. Seemed plenty of people had extra shit laying around their houses they didn’t want to keep or throw, so they sold it to other people stupid enough to buy it. A dead ass alley on the edge of town was as normal a place for those sorts of sales as some high end neighborhood over by the Mystic’s Palace. In Irridian, seemed everyone wanted a deal, and sometimes the spellscripts they could get from some random ass person was a quarter the price but just as useful as the ones they got in the bookstores or spell shops. Cypress was used to seeing Charlatans setting up shop with wares like that, but not everyday citizens.

In retrospect, maybe that was why the Dogs hadn’t cared about the lady and kid in front of HQ. Whether Charlatans or the nice old biddy down the street, they were both selling their shit for cheap and it was perfectly legal. Except, in the case tonight at Road’s End, everything was a front for selling black market shit instead; from spellscripts that claimed to be innocuous but were probably some pretty dark shit, to some even more dangerous and disturbing stuff Cypress had seen peeking out of the crates while he watched.

A Dog passing by the alley may not think twice about that chipped teacup, but they’d probably think there was something pretty fucking wrong with a Seer’s eyes bobbing around a jar, or the mummified arm of what they claimed was an Entropist.

All of that meant there were a lot more people than Cypress had anticipated. He’d thought he’d be dealing with maybe four guys, but turned out it was closer to ten sellers and a rotation of random people swinging by. Not too many for him to handle, but still too many to be an easy snatch and go. If he wasn’t what he was, maybe he could have gotten away with it, but as it stood he wasn’t going to risk it. 

He kept an eye out for anything else he may want to steal, since he was stuck watching this stupid market. Nothing stood out to him, but that was only because he and Hunter had a great stash from all their rerun scams. Anyone else would’ve had plenty to choose from. After the third hour of watching this boring shit, he’d thought about just buying the cocoons so he could leave, but he wanted to know if they had selaria and no way in yenrre was he paying the amount they’d probably charge for that shit. Plus, he sensed there was a Cursed Dog or two down there. He wasn’t going near that shit unless he had to; he never knew if those crazy fuckers would still be able to ID him for what he was, or if they’d be too far gone to care.

So he’d had to wait outside the warehouse until night fell, which wasn’t nearly as dark here in Irridian as it was in the countryside. Magelights kept an unnatural glow even past sundown, but this high up inside the warehouse he had found some shadows to serve as the cloak he’d left behind.

The number of people slowly dwindled, not that there had ever been some huge group in the start. They moved their shit from selling from tables in the alley to solely being inside the warehouse. And that was when he'd relocated too.

Even far into the night he still couldn't tell if these guys had selaria, but they definitely had some mote faerie cocoons. Those things were always shipped in very specific containers to keep them from breaking in transit and to contain their magical energy, and in one of the open crates he could see the box nestled right down in there. They had plenty of it so he wasn’t worried it would all be sold, and if it was he figured he’d just stalk the buyer until they were somewhere secluded and get it from them instead. Probably make it easier. But no one had bought that shit; they’d been buying and trading everything else instead. 

It wasn’t a surprise, really. Hunter had invented the tracking patch, after all, so they were the only ones using it. Most people didn’t need the filaments like they did.

The number of buyers had finally dwindled significantly. Cypress guessed the dealers would be packing up in the next couple of hours. With all the sellers in one place now, this gave Cypress more time to really focus on the weak links, and watch their behavior to see if he could sneak down and grab the shit after all or if they’d always be milling around the crates like they had so far. He waited and watched, cautious and careful. 

He spent time identifying as best he could the vibrations of the various seiyunne he felt, without giving himself away in the process. Cursed Dogs at the door and far wall, one young, one older. Some Magelings crawling around– scruffy beard, red tunic, green cloak, those three. Empath in the corner conserving his energy. Two Proveniers; scarred eye and grey-streaked hair. Enthraller as the main man breaking open the crates and coordinating the sales. The strangest part was he felt something fucked up but couldn’t quite place it. A Cursed Healer and something else, he thought, but he didn’t see them. Maybe they already left before he got inside, maybe not. There’d been a woman involved earlier, dark hair to her shoulders, but he didn’t think it was her. She was fucked up. Provenier, but not. Possibly Spiritualist? She was something, he just didn’t know what and didn’t care. She was gone a long time now, so she no longer had to factor into his plans.

For all that his silence and stillness made him practically disappear, he still didn’t detect the presence until it appeared at his right.

Bright green eyes glowed faintly in the gloom next to him, all other features lost in the darkness aside from a shock of black hair and dark clothing. The person watched the black market dealers far below them.

"Idiot!" he hissed. "Release that!"

The glowing green eyes rolled and pulsed to the normal faint glint of eyes cast in shadow. White teeth flashed in a grin and the stranger settled more comfortably on the ledge. Cypress knew without any sense of arrogance that it was impressive that he was able to balance so well on the ledge, but the newcomer was so casual about it that it made him look awkward and off-balance.

He was irritated all over again.

"Irridia’s tits, who are you?" He kept his growl quiet and low and flicked his attention between the stranger and the targets. The people down below didn’t appear to have noticed anything. 

Yet.

A woman's voice answered in a rough lilt, "You can call me JD. And you are?"

His eyes narrowed to slits, his tone acidic. "Anonymous."

“Cute.” She settled herself more comfortably against the wall, one leg nearly at a ninety degree angle to balance her weight.

"Thanks," he said. "Now get the fuck outta my way."

"Excuse me, Mr. Congeniality, but I believe I was here first."

That would explain the subtle sense of being watched when he first arrived. He had assumed it was someone with the black market dealers and had taken more time then usual to find a spot and settle in but even then he’d felt off. Apparently he should have trusted his instincts.

This day was going to shit real fast.

"I don't care if you were born here. This is _my_ mark."

"Well, I wasn't. But I _have_ been here since well before you. So, _you_ leave."

Cypress clenched his free fist. "You."

She bared her teeth. "No, you."

"No, _you!"_

"You!"

Their hissed-whisper fight hadn’t risen to a level of endangering them, but it might have continued in that form if Cypress hadn’t seen something that made his throat close tight.

His stupid _fucking_ twin walked into the warehouse and stopped near one of the dealers.

Cypress’ heart made a funny, worried leap. 

What was he doing here? What the _fuck_ was he thinking?

He was supposed to stay back at the apartment. It was _safe_ in the apartment for Hunter. This was the exact fucking opposite of—

“Who’s that?” the woman asked interestedly.

“Shh!” Cypress waved an angry hand for her to shut the fuck up, and dug one of his charged listening stones from his pocket. He’d only brought two and they only worked for a certain amount of time, so he hadn’t wanted to use them up until he was about to move in for the steal. But he had to know what Hunter was saying in case he needed to interfere. He’d created the listening stones similar to the same way he made his bombs, allowing him to activate a spell without having to use his magic. A swirl of his thumb pad in the right design on the bottom of the stone and it was primed; he put it up to his ear and used a magnet behind his earlobe to connect it where he normally would have worn his earring. The stone stayed up like a small earring, held on by the magnetic force, which itself activated the spell without him having to use Enhanced Senses.

The sounds from below leapt to his ear as if he were standing there next to his brother. Hunter’s footsteps were a quiet scratch against the worn concrete floor while he wandered between the three tables left standing. The dealers watched him closely, the same way they had others; always ready to defend against Enforcers or Dogs in disguise.

Because of the range of the listening stone, Cypress heard everything from the floor, including people nowhere near his brother. While Hunter was walking around, not yet interacting with anyone, Cypress quickly took note of what the others were saying. The younger Cursed Dog and Empath by the main door said nothing; just watched their surroundings suspiciously. Grey Streak the Provenier circled the room watching everyone, slowly arching back toward the entrance. The older Cursed Dog idly made his way toward the tables from the back of the room. There were only two customers in the place aside from Hunter; some couple who were trying to negotiate a better deal with the seller on a set of poison-tipped knives. That seller was the scarred eye Provenier, and the Mageling with the green cloak came over to monitor the deal. The Enthraller was digging through the packing rags in one of the crates in the corner when the Mageling in the red tunic came over by him. 

“I thought you said he was coming,” Red Tunic muttered.

“That’s what I was told.” The Enthraller threw a bunch of rags out to the floor, sounding irritated. “His money must’ve fallen through.”

“That was supposed to be our big score. What was the point of risking Irridian if we could’ve stayed by Degrena?”

“He said they would know him too well down there. He said this was safer.”

“Bullshit it’s safer. The flea market cover worked on the Mystic to get in, but now we don’t know the Dogs as well. What if one of them comes in here disguised?”

“That’s why we have Jessen. Right?” The Enthraller looked over at the older Cursed Dog as he finally made it to them and stopped.

“Didn’t you hear?” The two Mages looked confused at Jessen’s question. He raised his eyebrows and hooked his thumbs on his pockets. “He’s dead.”

“What?” the Enthraller hissed.

“Who got him?” Red Tunic asked, almost overlapping their voices.

“No one knows,” Jessen said with a shrug. “Ariwyn Division found him yesterday. I heard there was something odd about it all.”

“Odd how?”

Cypress stopped paying attention to whatever the fuck they were talking about when he saw Hunter stopping near the table closest to the cocoon crate. That dealer was the last Mageling, his scruffy auburn beard nearly covering the fluctuations of his mouth.

“What’re you here for?” Scruffy Beard asked, leaning forward with his elbows on the edge of the table.

Hunter perused the trinkets, his gloved fingertips passing over the top of a metal tin. “I’m interested in mote faerie cocoons.”

What the fuck was Hunter doing? Asking outright only made the price go up; he should’ve bought something inexpensive and offered to take the cocoons off the dude’s hands for a deal. And didn’t he want any selaria? He couldn’t ask for that shit the same way he could cocoons. Why were they wasting money on the cocoons anyway when they could just steal it for free from some other schmuck stupid enough to buy? 

Everything Hunter was doing was a rookie mistake. And Cypress took great pride in not being a fucking rookie.

Scruffy Beard ticked up an eyebrow. “There’s an unusual need.”

“Do you have any?”

Scruffy Beard tapped a finger against the table, watching Hunter thoughtfully. There wasn’t anything wrong with wanting mote faerie cocoons, it was just sort of weird to ask for it specifically instead of buying it with other shit. Way to draw attention to himself for stupid fucking reasons, even if it wasn’t likely to result in anything bad.

“What are you doing?” the woman whispered in Cypress’ ear. He jumped slightly, having almost forgotten about her in his focus on his twin. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed vehemently, pushing her lightly on the shoulder to get her to back the fuck off.

“You’re acting like you can hear them, but you aren’t using ES.” She seemed intrigued, peering down. “What’s your secret?”

“I told you to shut up—”

“I have some,” Scruffy Beard was saying idly down below. 

“Does it have something to do with that stone—”

“Lady, I will fucking murder you if you don’t shut the fuck up already,” Cypress growled, gripping the end of the ledge to keep in his anger and stop him from attacking her.

“I can’t go that high,” Hunter was saying. “I can do forty.”

"Fifty."

Fucking great. Cypress had clearly missed part of their conversation. How was he supposed to protect his brother is this crazy fucking chick wouldn’t leave him alone?

“Forty-five and we have a deal.”

Forty-fucking-five! Hunter better have stolen the entire cache of selaria for that price. What the fuck was he-- 

Hunter reached out to shake on it, but Jessen stopped him with a grip on his right elbow. Seeing anyone touching Hunter at all, especially gripping the cloth-covered arm, shot a flash of hot rage through Cypress. He sucked in a breath, thinking logically he had to quell this sudden anger but feeling emotionally like right now he didn’t care, he had to pay attention to his brother instead.

Hunter was less perturbed than Cypress; he only looked over questioningly. From this high, Cypress didn’t have as good a view of their expressions as he wanted. He could tell Jessen was looking Hunter over, though, focusing mostly on his right eye where a scar arced down his cheek.

“I know you,” Jessen said slowly.

Cypress went on alert. He shifted his weight forward.

“I doubt it,” Hunter said calmly, “seeing as _I_ don’t know _you.”_

“No,” Jessen said thoughtfully. “I feel like I’ve seen you before. You look different, but… I swear I remember you. You have a brother, right? I remember a kid like you getting a scar—”

Ice rushed through Cypress’ veins. 

“No.”

Cypress didn’t even realize he had whispered it aloud; a mix of emotions he couldn’t decipher. Hunter quirked an eyebrow, seeming calm even as Cypress knew his twin enough to see the alarm in the way he shifted his weight backward, in the mild tone of his voice:

“You’re thinking of someone else. I’m an only child, and I got this scar from falling out of a tree when I was younger.” He raised an eyebrow at Scruffy Beard. “What sort of security are you people using here? This one doesn’t seem right in the head.”

“What’s going on?” It was the Enthraller, closing in fast. Cypress glanced quickly around and saw the only two customers had left; the younger Cursed Dog was closing and locking the doors, and the rest of the dealers were moving toward Hunter.

Cypress’ heartbeat sped. He quickly reached into his pockets, pulling out the bombs. 

“It’s been so long…” Jessen rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “My memories from before are a little hazy, but I swear he was one of Claude’s kids.”

“Claude’s?” 

The Enthraller’s surprise was overrun by a rush of alarm and worry crashing through Cypress. He ripped the listening stone off his ear, not caring if it might clatter, barely noticing the woman catch it instead. He was too focused on Hunter and the nightmare unfolding below.

Cypress adjusted his hold on his bombs; a handful of small spheres that were so dark they seemed to suck in the light. He blindly twirled them in his hand until one was between his fingers and the other two were in his palm. Though they had hit each other in the process, not even a whisper of sound escaped.

“What are you—?” the woman asked but he moved before she could finish.

Cypress threw one sphere straight into the air ahead of him, then threw the other two out at different angles. 

He jumped off the ledge next. 

He heard the woman draw in a sharp, stifled breath; probably thinking he was about to die. He stopped caring about her at all, focusing the entirety of his energy on the people below. 

Falling silently through the air, his dark hood flapping above his head, Cypress spread his arms straight to his sides, toward the two spheres. He was right on target; nearly straight over the first sphere he had thrown out.

A pulse of seitai hit the air and was gone so quickly that even Cypress could have missed it if he weren’t responsible. At the same time, the Magelights hovering in the room flashed and disappeared. 

The silky weight of seilaye ran through Cypress’ veins; comforting and welcoming in a way he never felt otherwise.

One of the spheres at Cypress' side disappeared. Eyes briefly glowed green in flashes from below, like lightning bugs appearing and disappearing in the gloom. They didn’t yet know to look up.

“What the fuck—?” Jessen asked, looking around.

It was too late.

A pulse of seitai flashed through the room. 

The Mages Cypress had marked as Proveniers and Magelings snapped their eyes up to him just as the sphere beneath him erupted. A giant gossamer spider web shot out, its edges snapping to the walls and catching just in time for him to fall on it. His hood settled gracefully over his face as he crouched, watching the Proveniers and Magelings as they drew seitai around them.

“It’s the kid!” Jessen shouted, stumbling back as he pointed up. “Defi—”

Hunter slit his throat with a dagger he created from thin air. Jessen clutched at his bleeding neck, eyes going wide. He gurgled in a breath, and stumbled behind one of the crates where he collapsed. A puddle of blood formed quickly beneath him.

The other Mages froze one second in shock before shooting into motion.

“You motherfucker!” The younger Cursed Dog lashed out at Hunter, gripping him with an Enforcer hold and throwing him back against a stack of crates. Hunter hit so hard the air audibly rushed out of him, and the crates fell over Jessen’s body. “Kill that fucker! I got this one.”

Cypress watched from his perch, unstable anger not rising so quickly now that he had seilaye soothing his soul. Hunter glanced up with a look that said he was fine before he was yanked off his feet and shot toward the Cursed Dog holding up a bared blade. 

The individual Mage signatures erupted around the other Mages like brightly colored cocoons that typically only another similar seiyunne user or Enforcer could see.

Idiots.

Seilaye moved within him; a secondary heartbeat, another life. Another soul. It rose and fell, stretching its proverbial arms as it waited, ravenous, for the Mages to make their mistake. 

Flashes of seikelle and seitai burned beneath him as the others drew on their own magic. The seiyunne in the air was so powerful that it raised the hair on Cypress' skin. 

It happened in quick succession, but to Cypress it felt like time slowed.

Seilaye always did that to him; made him feel every moment with deeper senses than he could ever achieve in a paltry spell.

The last sphere clattered to the floor just as the first Mageling shot a wave of seitai at Cypress. Furious shouts erupted around the room, echoing in the dark, and a few more spells were unleashed while Cypress stayed perfectly still.

He felt the magic reach toward him, and excitement crashed through his veins. His lips peeled back in a soul-sucking smile, and he let go of that dark beast inside him.

Seilaye violently rent the air, ripping through all the seiyunne present and sucking it in, like a maelstrom slicing through lumber and limbs. The impact of magic being stolen was so savage that it compressed the air. Every Mage in the building screamed in shock and crumpled to the floor.

Everyone except Hunter, whose magic wasn’t stolen and who knew what to expect, and Cypress, who was barely repressing happy laughter. 

Hunter caught himself with his hands against the Cursed Dog’s shoulders right before he would have been impaled, the momentum of the Enforcer’s hold initially pulling him through the air even when his seirene was stolen. As the Dog fell to his knees at the loss of his seiyunne, Hunter took that time to snap his neck.

The spells that had nearly reached Cypress wavered out of control and shot off to the side. The seiyunne that had been buzzing in the air was gone so suddenly that it was jarring; as if it had never existed.

But it did exist. 

It existed in Cypress’ control now, where it belonged. 

Those pathetic creatures fell down, rolling to the side in sheer terror. They bleated like sheep out to pasture, like livestock being slaughtered, and Cypress reveled in the sound. The feeling of their powers coursing through his veins, sparking power at his fingertips, brought him so intimately back into the fold of the universe that he felt like a god.

This was the disconnect his own power forced upon him every day of his life: the torture of being born a Mage with the knowledge of how fulfilling it was to be connected to Ariwyn, to feel his seiyunne bringing him in contact with the earth beneath him, with the ley lines beneath that— that knowledge and comfort and feeling of completion— 

Denied to him as a Defiler, who could only steal the magic of others. 

They saw that magic as their souls, and he understood why. It felt like he was missing half his soul every day he lived, being constantly stuck on the other side of a chasm from that most sincere of connections. 

He understood, and so he basked in the glory of their frightened faces, of their helpless shouts and the twitching of their limbs. They got their souls every day of their lives; let them feel for a moment how it was to live as a Defiler.

Cypress rose up, the power of his seiyunne bombs filling him with more than he could ever have pulled on his own. He felt like a giant, like a dragon, like the ruler of the world.

When he shook this time, it was with elation. 

And just a hint of repressed mania.

“Why are you doing this?” Scruffy Beard managed to hiss out. “If you want money…”

“Whatever we want, we’ll be sure to take,” Hunter said as he stopped at Scruffy Beard’s side. “You should have taken my deal and not let Jessen talk. Then we all could have avoided this.”

Calmly, Cypress walked to a large hole in the spiderweb and dropped straight through it to land with a light thud on a crate and roll out the impact. Most of the Mages were too weak without their power, unaccustomed to the violation of their magic being ripped from them. The Enthraller managed to strangle out a hoarse yell, managed to run at Cypress. Cypress jumped lightly out of the way and pivoted with a kick that sent the man sprawling.

Cypress walked through the room, crashing his fist and elbow and heel into the heads and necks and throats of the Mages. Not caring if he killed or incapacitated. Not caring what happened, with this power vibrating through his every blood cell and bringing to life his every nerve.

This was what it felt to be alive. 

He stepped over Jessen’s body and passed the last Provenier, Scarred Eye, who was rolling around on the floor. Cypress scooped up the last sphere and pocketed it as he casually kicked the man in the face. The crack of bone breaking was pleasant to Cypress’ ears, as was the sight of blood smearing the toe of his boot.

Hunter passed Cypress to start digging in one of the crates. Cypress heard a noise and looked up to see the woman from above tentatively watching from the web. Her fingers curled around the strands. 

With the extra life inside him, the extra power, Cypress could see the look of shock on her face. The faintest trembling of her fingertips.

He should kill her after this. 

He should kill all of them. 

None of them could know what he was, or who they once had been. If anyone knew, they would hunt him down and slaughter him like everyone else.

If they knew, they would hurt Hunter.

The rage that usually overcame him at that thought was missing with the seduction of this power. Instead, he felt only a higher understanding of the world. A cool, comforting embrace in his mind.

He looked at the men around him; the ones who still breathed. He systematically walked to each of them, crushing their skulls.

Hunter moved on to the next crate, the one that held the cocoons. He threw the packing rags out of the way while he searched for their spoils. Cypress only half paid attention to his brother as he finished off the livestock. 

Didn’t they know? It was kill or be killed in this world, and Cypress would never again be the victim.

Red Tunic appeared at Hunter's side from wherever he’d been hiding, hand raised to strike him. Neither Cypress nor Hunter spared him a glance. Hunter shot a knife from beneath his cloak and it caught the man against the throat. Red Tunic staggered back, shocked, and had no chance to react before a second blunt weapon, this one from Cypress across the room, hit him in the back of the head with a meaty thunk. He crumpled to the floor.

Cypress finished off the last man with a boot to his forehead and a violent strike to his throat that made the man’s entire body jerk. When Cypress stood, he was decorated with the blood of his enemies. It splattered across his form beautifully and he took a moment to admire it before looking up and meeting his twin’s unmoved eyes.

Cypress approached his brother as Hunter held up the cocoon’s box. 

Success. 

Hunter quickly padded the box in some of the packing rags and then secreted it into a bag he had tied at his waist for this purpose. 

Cypress moved around the fallen Mages and crates, collecting anything that looked interesting or worth any amount of money on the black market, and placed them about his body in pouches and holders scattered beneath his clothing.

He felt the presence of a fucked up Mageling and turned, seeing it was the woman. He hadn’t bothered to identify her seiyunne before but now it felt obvious there was something wrong with her.

“Who are you?” Hunter asked.

“A friend of your friend, who calls himself anonymous.” She tried to sound casual but it sounded shaky.

Cypress stepped toward her.

“No…” Hunter shot a wary glance at Cypress and stepped between them. “There are a very small number of people who could have hidden their presence as thoroughly as you did, and only one I can think of who could match your description and who is known to be in Irridian.”

“Oh?” Intrigue pushed away some of her fear.

“You’re Jade, aren’t you?”

Her eyebrows rose. “Come now. Everyone knows that no one knows what Jade looks like.”

“I know enough.”

“How did you come to be so well-informed, pray tell?”

Hunter ignored her question. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged. “I could ask the same of you, but seems our goals were aligned in one way. We all needed something that someone else has.” She walked a wide berth around Cypress, keeping Hunter between them. Cypress wasn’t fooled by the act. He saw the way she still trembled; the way she avoided looking at him.

He stepped toward her again. Hunter shifted with the movement, staying between them.

Stepping over bodies and pools of blood, she made her way to the man who Cypress had earlier marked as an Enthraller and the leader. Kicking his body over, she produced a blade from beneath her cloak and slammed it into his back to the left of his right shoulder blade.

Cypress paused, positively reevaluating her trustworthiness based on her ruthless lack of hesitation.

Muscles bulging on her arms, she jerked the blade down and around, until she had cut a small hole that oozed blood. Cypress watched curiously as she pulled on a long glove, then reached her fingers into the depression and dug around with eyes moving around blank space and her lips pursed in concentration. She appeared to be searching for something based on feel alone.

A grim smile flashed across her lips as she pulled her bloody hand back with something clutched in her fingers. She pulled the glove down and around whatever she had retrieved from the man's body and secreted the item away so quickly that Cypress could not follow where she put it.

She stood and dusted her hands off, turning her attention to the twins. She hesitated, her gaze unable to stay on Cypress and settling on Hunter. “You know, now that I see you up close… you two look alike. Are you actually brothers?”

_Brothers._

_Claude’s kids._

Maybe she'd heard what was said, even from up there.

She couldn’t be trusted.

No one could live, once they knew.

He could feel the seiyunne he’d stolen sifting out of his reach; pulled as relentlessly from his grasp as gravity would sand between his fingers. With the users dead, the seiyunne was trying to return to Ariwyn, to the surroundings, to the ley lines and the natural order of the world.

Cypress didn’t want to let it. 

He wanted to hold it forever, keeping that flame in his chest and that feeling in his soul. He didn’t want to be empty again. Didn’t want to have to feel that pain that never let him truly rest, that made him furious and hateful toward everything. Everyone.

Even seilaye would leave him as well, once this was all over.

In Cypress’ silence, Hunter had answered something to the woman he thought was Jade, so probably was. Cypress didn’t care about their conversation. Already his life force, his seiyunne, was trying to leave him. Soon, he would be vacant again. 

Soon, he would feel that gaping, bloody wound that he called his soul.

While she was distracted, Cypress pulled a small green-tinted glass bottle from a pouch. He uncorked the top, and stepped behind her. Before she could turn, he snapped seilaye out like a whip. 

It shot through her; wrapped its claws around her power—seitai, for her—and yanked it back into his grasp. He felt the warmth of her signature, of her life force, even as Jade sucked in a strangled, keening breath. She tried to stay standing but it was too painful for Mages to have their magic stolen so violently, and like the lambs before her she, too, fell to her knees. Listed forward to land on her hands. 

Cypress stared down at her while he siphoned her seitai into the bottle. It glowed from the inside; a pulsing, pleasant warmth that captured her signature as best he could. He pressed the cork back into the top and returned the bottle to its safe place.

She clawed at her throat, her chest. Her body knew something was missing but her mind couldn’t comprehend. 

They always acted this way. So pathetic. 

Sometimes Cypress wondered how Mages had lived so long in this world, fancying themselves as gods when all it took to make them weaker than anything was to remove their magic.

Sometimes, he wished the whole world would burn again, and that this time the second Rending wouldn’t split the magic into five seiyunne but rather destroy it entirely. So that none of this had to exist anymore. So that he never again had to watch such a pitiful scene.

She had grass green eyes, he noticed for the first time when she looked up at him. Fury, terror, pain, confusion… the emotions were all there, clear in the trembling of her flesh and bone.

He could kill her easily right now. It wouldn’t even matter if he did.

“Why?” she managed, the word stretched thin through a hoarse throat.

“Why not.”

He stepped forward, his hand rising with the plan to strike her throat and break through the skin to her vulnerable, beating jugular vein.

Hunter stepped between them, his expression set and hands raised.

“Cy,” he said calmly. Intently. “Don’t.”

“Why.” Cypress couldn’t bring intonation into his voice anymore. Emotions felt far away from him, as if they had never existed.

“You collected her signature to test the tracking later, right? We’ll need her alive to do that.”

Cypress stared blankly at Hunter, and then shifted his gaze down at the bleating lamb on the floor. It had lost its humanity the moment he realized how easy it would be to kill.

“It knows what I am.”

“She won’t tell anyone. Will you, Jade?” The last was directed at the lamb in a firm voice. 

Cypress saw the lamb shake its head but he didn’t believe it. The lambs always agreed at this point. They always made promises they never kept.

They lied.

They lied, because they wanted to kill him.

Cypress started to step around Hunter, but Hunter moved with him. Stayed as a calm interception. Cypress tried again, the other direction, and Hunter was there once more.

Staying between Cypress and the liar.

“You have to move. I need to kill it.”

“You don’t, Cy. Let go of seilaye.”

“No. I need it.”

“You don’t. It changes you.”

“It brings me alive,” Cypress said firmly, and Hunter shook his head. 

After a moment, Hunter’s eyebrows knitted together and his eyes screwed up faintly. There was an odd trembling of his lips. 

Cypress didn’t understand that expression. 

He stepped to the side and Hunter was there again, this time gripping Cypress’ shoulders. His eyes bore into Cypress with such intensity that he couldn’t look away.

“Let go,” Hunter said steadily. “Let it go right now.”

“If I let go, I’ll lose this feeling.”

“I know.”

“I have to have it.”

“You don’t need it, Cypress. Cypress. Look at me.”

Cypress thought he had been looking at Hunter, but he realized at the words that he was peering again at that slab of meat on the floor. Huddled and watching him warily. Why was it still alive? It was time for the eyes to go blank, like all the other pieces of meat in the room.

_“Cypress.”_

Cypress dragged his gaze back up to Hunter, and saw the same expression from before, only now seeming more intense. Becoming a determined glare.

“Cypress, I won’t let you kill her. You’ll have to take my magic first.”

Cypress felt something deep within him recoil at the thought. Nausea clenched his stomach and rushed up his throat.

He stepped back.

“No.”

“You’ll have to. I won’t get out of your way.”

 _“No,”_ Cypress said more loudly. “I won’t.”

“Then let go of the seilaye.”

“I can’t. I—” His gaze was sliding around less steadily now. He found it difficult to focus. “Hunter… Hunter, I can’t.”

“You have to. Listen to me; it’s starting to hurt you.” 

Cypress shook his head and stumbled back another step. Something wasn’t right but he didn’t know what. “No it isn’t. It protects me. Hunter. Hunter, please. You have to move.”

Hunter stepped forward with him, staying within arms’ reach even when Cypress fell back further. Nearly tripped over a body. He caught himself, barely, but in that shot of adrenaline he felt the distant pains resurfacing.

It started with the faint pounding of his head; a light tap, first, but it grew. It built into a deafening noise and behind it all, he felt his heartbeat. It hammered in his chest, vibrating his ribs and rushing blood like magma through his veins. His fingertips trembled, became shaking hands, and then his entire body was quaking and he could hardly stay upright.

He fell forward, curling in on himself, gasping. Fire felt like it ate him from the inside out. He felt hands catch his shoulders. Something cold and hard was against his knees. Somewhere else, he felt his body convulse.

Was it his body? Was any of this real? 

What was this inferno inside him, that blazed away everything that had been there before?

All he could hear was a voice saying urgently, “Release it. Let it go. Now, Cypress, _now.”_

He didn’t know what he was supposed to release, but as the pain grew beyond measure, from the very core of him he rejected everything. He tried to shove the hands away, tried to throw everything away from him. He wanted to retreat so the pain would leave him, even if that meant death.

Anything was better than this. Anything was safer.

Something inside him cracked. With it came a great gush of cold air rushing into his lungs. He gasped desperately, as if he had never drawn breath before. As a drowning man would choke and cry over crisp, cool air.

There was a darkness inside him that slid away; that demon of a magic that felt simultaneously violating and comforting. He hated feeling it go as much as he hated the idea of it staying. He wanted it gone as much as he wanted it back.

Even with it receding he couldn’t breathe. 

This wasn’t right. Something was very wrong.

Darkness dragged him down, deeper and deeper until only a sliver of light shuddered on the boundary of his vision. 

He turned around in this scorching dream and thought he saw something massive rising above him. It glowed umber on the edges, a faint distinction from the pitch black. He could barely make out three parallel, vertical lines and an arch that connected them at the top. It seemed so far above him that he wasn’t even certain it existed.

He knew something important was there, but it was beyond him to understand what. The light flickered in the distance and broke into tiny dots that scattered around him.

At that movement, he heard it. A voice, so faint he almost missed it. He couldn’t understand what it said, couldn’t even be certain he truly heard it, but he was drawn to it anyway. He tried to reach it, and felt like the darkness was catching at him; dragging him into currents he couldn’t quite escape.

But the voice didn’t stop so he didn’t stop trying to reach it.

As the voice grew clearer, the lights grew brighter. Soon, they eclipsed the darkness and those lines disappeared entirely. Words were beginning to form, beginning to have meaning, until finally the voice connected with a name in Cypress’ mind. 

Da—

Cypress heaved in air like his life depended on it, and maybe it did. He realized his back was arched; he was lying on a bloody floor in an abandoned warehouse. His entire body burned and ached. He couldn’t breathe properly. Something heavy was on him. 

He flailed around, trying to gain some context of understanding by searching for a physical hold. He caught onto shoulders and a hard back. He gripped it with all his might until the world came fully back into focus and life made sense again.

He realized he was clinging to his twin like a lifeline, and that Hunter’s hands were like vice grips on his arms. Cypress’ eyes rolled around wildly, his breath still coming in fits and gulps.

“Sweet Irridia’s merciful light,” Hunter breathed. “What the fuck was _that?”_

Hunter sounded shaken. 

Hunter never sounded shaken. He almost never swore.

Cypress felt simultaneously alarmed, afraid, and utterly uncertain. He felt like Ariwyn had been tipped on its side and nothing was right. 

He struggled against the weight of his brother, the weight of his own body, until Hunter realized his intentions and helped him sit up. Cypress sat there, surrounded by corpses of people he only vaguely remembered killing; his legs sprawled in front of him and his mind still reeling from overload.

He realized Hunter was still holding his arms tightly—painfully, really—and on the other side of Hunter there was Jade. She stared, the whites of her eyes visible all around her irises, her face paled. She trembled, ceding Cypress a look he knew all too well: horror and wariness and a fair amount of fear.

He felt weary all of a sudden, and didn’t know why. All he knew was at that moment, he wanted to sleep and not wake up for a week.

“Cy!” Hunter shook Cypress roughly.

Cypress pushed his hands away. “What?” he asked, voice weak but irritated. “I’m awake. Fuck’s sake. Don’t need to kill me in the process of checking.”

Unmistakable relief crossed Hunter’s features. Funny, since Cypress’ attitude usually had the opposite effect.

Cypress struggled to stand, and was annoyed at Hunter’s hands being there to support him. He wanted to push him away, but truthfully he wavered quite a bit and would have tipped over if Hunter hadn’t taken some of his weight.

That knowledge only made Cypress angrier. 

He hated being weak more than almost anything else in the world. And his list of things he hated in this world was exceedingly long.

“I’m serious, Cy. What in yenrre happened? I’ve never seen it be so bad.”

Cypress peered around the room, trying to ignore the disquiet that settled, heavily, in his gut. Hunter shook him again when he didn’t answer.

“I don’t know,” Cypress snapped, pushing him away. He stumbled but caught his balance, and refused to let his brother get close enough to support him again. “I just—I don’t fucking know.”

Hunter watched him in outright worry, and that was another oddity that made everything feel so fucking wrong. Cypress didn’t like this turn at all.

Jade struggled to her feet and Cypress avoided looking at her. He couldn’t yet parse his feelings about any of this, so he didn’t want to have to deal with her presence and what he might have done.

“No one can know about him, or us,” Hunter told her. Deadly serious. “You understand? If you tell anyone, he really will kill you next time. And I won’t stop him.”

“I get it,” Jade said shakily. She sounded haunted, but Cypress didn’t look at her to see if her expression matched. He didn’t want to see her face at all.

“I know you won’t go to the Enforcers about him. If you do, if they come for him and get him before he gets you, I’ll tell them about you. We’ll be able to track you, now. I’ll tell them exactly where you are and make sure they take you down. Understood?”

“I get it,” Jade said again, this time more steadily. 

Cypress chanced a glance at her, and saw she was regaining her composure much more quickly than most. It was probably because she could access seitai again, ever since Cypress had released his hold on her magic.

Before either of them could say more, Cypress felt a vibration of magic approaching. 

“Damn it. Someone’s coming. We gotta go.”

Jade was instantly on alert. She darted away into the shadows, where she was swallowed by the darkness. Hunter cursed quietly and grabbed Cypress around the shoulders. 

“Which direction?” Hunter hissed, and Cypress jerked his chin toward where he felt it steadily approaching. 

Together, they stumbled quickly to the exit. They made it outside into the dead-end alleyway in back, but before Hunter could help him to the road Cypress gripped his arm. The presences were drawing closer, headed at an angle that would pass the alleyway’s entrance. With a growl, Hunter manhandled Cypress with him up onto a low wall, and then used that as leverage to push them up onto the roof of the building next door. 

They made it up there just in time to duck down, letting the night overtake their silhouettes as two people approached. Cypress breathed as shallowly as he could, hoping their presence wouldn’t be detected. He was too weak and off-kilter to properly use his magic, and Hunter would be compromised if he had to be their sole offense and defense. 

Low voices echoed ahead of the interlopers. They were women and sounded fairly young, maybe a little older than Hunter and Cypress’ twenty-one years. One of them was taller, more lithe than the other. She moved with the easy grace of a fighter, and wore the green and blue cloak of an Enforcer. Her face was completely hidden by the lowered hood.

Cypress wanted to swear. Just his fucking luck a Dog would be here right now.

He exchanged a heavy glance with Hunter. This could go to shit so fast… 

The other woman was shorter and much curvier. Her hair was long and loose; a rich reddish-orange that went down her back. She wore no designation in her clothing, but she felt like an Enthraller to Cypress. Strangest of all was the fact that even from this far away, even in the shadows of the night, Cypress could easily see her eye color. Her eyes flashed in the light and glowed in the dark like an animal’s. They were a color he had never seen before in a person: mostly red, with shades of gold, orange and brown within, standing out against her warm complexion.

Her eyes disturbed him; set him on edge in a way he didn’t understand.

“Where are we going?” the red-eyed girl asked, beleaguered. When the taller girl didn’t answer, she continued: “Sloane! Where are we?”

“I’m telling you, Fawkes. I felt something.”

Fawkes sighed. “You’ve been saying that for the past two neighborhoods. When can we take a break?”

“I have to figure out what that was. It’ll drive me nuts.”

“Shouldn’t we have called the Enforcers?”

“I _am_ an Enforcer.”

“You’re off duty.”

“I was born an Enforcer. I’m never off duty.”

Fawkes rolled her eyes and grabbed Sloane’s arm, winding her own around it. “Fine, but if we don’t find anything on this block then you have to agree to a break. I didn’t know we’d be doing all this walking tonight. My feet hurt.” 

“Like you can talk.” Sloane gestured curtly to Fawkes’ feet. “Half the time you like to be barefoot. I still don’t know how you haven’t stepped on something and gotten yourself hurt or killed. Do you even know the sort of stuff people drop in this city?”

“I’m wearing shoes today!”

“Like _those_ are any better.”

“They’re my favorite!”

“You need to bring them to the cobbler, though. The sole is completely worn through.”

“They’re the shoes Grey gave me before—”

“I know, I know. You’ve told me this a million times. But when you walk on these shitty back streets, the rocks cut right into your feet. You should invest in solid boots, like me.”

“Well, _someone_ told me all we were doing tonight was having a late dinner at RoseMaker’s Inn.”

“How was I supposed to know I’d feel something so strange before we left?”

Fawkes sighed heavily. “I’m the one who should have known this would happen. We can’t go anywhere together without something weird happening.”

Cypress was getting a headache having to listen to them babble about stupid shit. He wished they would walk past and move on. He was starting to get a cramp in his leg, and his head was beginning to pound again. He didn’t know how much longer he could stay perfectly still.

Just his fucking luck; the second he thought that the red-eyed girl slowed to a crawl.

Sloane stopped at the entrance to the alley and turned toward Fawkes. Finally, she pushed the hood off her face and Cypress could see her skin was a shade deeper than Fawkes, she had light grey eyes, and short dark brown hair that was cropped and spiked up at the front. She frowned at Fawkes, who had clenched her fists at her stomach.

“What’s your problem?” Sloane asked. “You’re acting weirdly timid. It’s making me nervous.”

“I don’t know.” Fawkes took a step forward and peered cautiously around the edge of the alley, where Cypress and Hunter had first fled. “I just…” She trailed off and darted her glinting red gaze all around. “I feel odd.”

“Odd how?”

“Something feels… very dark,” Fawkes worried at her lip. “Malevolent. Evil.” 

Sloane was quiet a second before saying lowly, “I feel it too.”

“You do?” 

“Yes.” Sloane’s eyes narrowed and she skimmed their surroundings. “It feels… familiar.”

“Familiar?” Fawkes asked in surprise. “How?”

“I don’t know. None of this makes sense.” Sloane scowled and scrubbed at her right shoulder. “I just know that it does.”

Fawkes shifted her weight. “I don’t like this, Sloane. It’s scaring me. I want to go.”

Sloane hesitated, looking between Fawkes and their surroundings. She sighed and ran a hand back through her hair, shoving the front up even higher. 

“We can’t. I don’t want to unnerve you, but I think this is what I felt.” She pointed at the warehouse. “I can see the signatures seeping underneath the door. I need to check inside, see what it is. You know why.”

“I do.”

“Okay. So, why don’t you wait out here for me to—”

“No,” Fawkes said resolutely. “If you’re going in, I’m going in.”

“Fawkes, you aren’t an Enforcer.”

“Exactly. That’s why I have to go with you.”

“No, you don’t. I know we use you as a consultant sometimes, but if it’s unsafe—”

“If something is in there but it doesn’t violate seirene’s order, you won’t be able to stop it. And if you try, you’ll be hurt. I won’t let you become Cursed. I’ll take over before then.”

“That’s why I know how to physically fight. And anyway, it’s even more dangerous for you to Enthra—”

“Sloane, shut up and take me in there.” Fawkes peered flatly at Sloane. “You have to look into this, so I’m going in either way. The only question is whether the Enforcer goes in first, or the Enchanter.”

Sloane glowered at Fawkes, her hands flexing into fists and relaxing at her sides. She turned a hard stare onto the door. “I don’t feel any living energy inside, so it’s probably nothing.”

“Probably.”

“So you really don’t have to come with me.”

“I don’t care.”

Sloane growled and stepped forward. She gripped the doorknob with one hand and spread her other arm out behind her, simultaneously shielding and holding back Fawkes. “If anything bad happens, you don’t get involved. Got it? You go get Vikenti instead.”

“I’ll do what I have to.”

“Sweet Irridia, you’re damn stubborn sometimes,” Sloane grumbled under her breath.

“No worse than you.”

Sloane let out a loud, beleaguered sigh but she didn’t protest further. She turned the doorknob and opened the door. As the two of them stepped into the warehouse, Hunter and Cypress didn’t wait to see what their reaction would be to the massacre inside. The second the women were out of sight, the brothers fled into the darkness the way they had for so much of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your interest in Incarnations! I won't bore you with author's notes on every chapter but please allow me to introduce some important information in this first chapter. Incarnations is Book One of a series called Wildwood Rising, which will have at least 3 books (and probably more). The entire series has many LGBTQIA+ main characters, and every book so far planned will have at least one F/F relationship, if not also M/M, possibly M/F, and whatever else. The relationships are not the primary focus of the story but they will definitely exist.
> 
> I have already written and finished Incarnations, however I'm currently in the process of editing and rewriting sections of it. I will be posting chapters as I go but already have the first three chapters ready and will post those right away. Fair warning that this is a long book - hope you're into that! :)
> 
> If you are interested in this world or series you can find a bit more information on my site at aisylum.com.


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